The Missing Princess
by Eirallina
Summary: 8 years ago, a coup d'etat brought turmoil to the nation of Aris and separated the royal family. Some fled the country and others died. Now, under the order of the current King, Draco Malfoy is given the task of reuniting the sovereign with his family. AU
1. Start

**Disclaimer :: **The following is a work of fan fiction based on the popular series Harry Potter created by the wonderful JK Rowling. No offense is intended towards JK Rowling or her work. All historical contents represented within this Regency-era story are fabricated. However, this fan fiction is 100% written by me unless otherwise indicated.

**Synopsis ::** Eight years ago, a coup d'etat brought turmoil to the Country of Aris and separated the royal family. Some fled the country, others went to remote areas of the country side, and those who were left behind died. Now, under the order of the current King, Draco Malfoy is given the task of reuniting the sovereign with his family.

**Chapter 1: Start  
**

_The Country of Aris _

_Mallengraul, Capital of Aris_

_King Richard Duval's 9th year in reign_

In the darkness of the night, over two hundred soldiers stood at attention. Lining up within the forest behind the palace and obscured from the watchful eyes of guards patrolling the area, the soldiers were ready. Five hundred feet away, the Summer Palace stood bare and undefended save for the occasional sentries patrolling the gates.

Amidst the group of soldiers, the lead commanding officer Rodolphus Lestrange took a few moments to survey the surrounding area and then looked up into the dark sky above him. Almost immediately, he turned back to scan the faces of the soldiers about him and smiled.

"It's time," said Lestrange. "Remember, kill everyone you see be it slaves, children, or women. No one must survive this and definitely not the members of the royal family. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sire!" The enlisted men retorted.

"Archery team, do your worst."

"Yes, sir." The group leader called back. "Archery team, get ready."

A unit consisting of fifty archers stepped forward with their bows and arrows prepared and prepped. The sharp ends of the arrows were all covered in wet cloths that smelled sickeningly like oil and each bow had at least twenty arrows strapped to its string. Stretching the bows to maximum length, the archers knelt down onto the ground and waited for further instructions.

"Torches," commanded the group leader.

Soldiers rushed in between the archers to light the arrows and scuttled away as quickly as they could when the arrows burst into flames.

"Aim." The archers arched their backs and directed their weapons of destruction towards the palace, the flames licking the arrows slowly. "Fire!"

| o | o | o |

Thirteen year old Royal Prince Successor Alexander Duval had been discussing political tactics out in the courtyard when the fire shower came upon them. Although the attack was sudden and unexpected, soldiers who had waited upon the young prince immediately took action and rushed to his side. Dodging the fiery flames brought on by the arrows, Alexander and his entourage safely entered the protection of the palace walls.

"Alarm General Longbottom and then go to the King." Alexander quickly dodged a flying arrow coming his way. "He needs protection the most."

"Yes, sir."

The prince's guards nodded their heads in acknowledgment of the order and rushed past him, leaving the prince unattended. The prince watched them disappear behind the corner, eyes clouded with fear and worry. Once they left his vision, he took a deep breath, brandished his sword, and made his way through the darkness of the palace walls in search of his father.

He didn't know when it started but halfway through his journey towards the king's quarters, Alexander gradually realized someone was following him. Taking the opportunity as he turned the corner, the young prince quickly turned around with his sword at the ready. However, as soon as he recognized who it was, he lowered the weapon immediately.

"Father," exclaimed Alexander. "The palace is under attack. We must leave immediately."

"I know."

The prince's wavered at the statement.

"Then what are we waiting for? We have leave quickly. Summer Palace's defenses are not as extensive as Hogwarts an-" Glancing at his father, Alexander finally realized his father was equipped with a full, military armor. "You're planning to stay."

"I will take care of Rodolphus Lestrange. Alex, on the other hand, mu-"

"Lestrange?" Alexander gasped. "Lestrange is leading the coup d'etat? But he's-"

"He's been planning it for a while now, but never mind that. Go find Emma and leave the palace. No matter what happens tonight, you must leave with her and safely reach Malfoy Manor. The Malfoys will protect you."

"And you?" Alexander shook his head. "Father, you are the king. I cannot leave you unattended like this to protect my sister. I-"

"I have the Longbottom brothers and all the soldiers in this castle to defend me. Your young sister only has you, Alex. I hope you realize that."

"But-"

The King clucked his tongue in frustration.

"Do not speak of such superfluous things in such direful circumstances, Alexander. Go now. Leave!"

Giving one final glance at King Richard of Aris, Alexander nodded his head in farewell and quickly fled the scene. As soon as Alexander's footsteps faded into the darkness, King Richard took up arms and hurried to the battle ground at the entrance of the palace.

Sentries and soldiers alike, upon noticing the regal presence of their monarch, followed him. Among those who joined him as he made his way to the battle ground, some were physically injured, others were suffering from third degree burns, and others could not go on after a few steps.

At the juncture between the battle ground and the peaceful inner walls of the palace, King Richard stopped and looked at his comrades. Including the Longbottom brothers, his army all amounted to less than 100 soldiers. They stood no chance against the forces of Rodolphus Lestrange's army, and he had no doubt it was an army.

"Your Majesty," General Frank Longbottom nodded his head in acknowledgment. "We await your command."

"You understand what this attack entails, correct?" Richard asked his comrade.

"Yes, sir." His soldiers replied in unison.

"Very well," said the monarch. "Let us defend the palace to the best of our abilities and may we prevail."

"Yes, sir."

Swords at the ready, the one hundred soldiers queue up into position as the gates of the Summer Palace finally exploded open. King Richard led the defending channel as enemies and friends charged at each other.

| o | o | o |

Simultaneously on the other side of the palace, Princess Emma slowly opened her eyes at the sound of her brother's familiar but rushed rousing. Disoriented, she blinked several times as the silhouette of a man slowly came into focus.

"Alex?" Emma asked groggily.

Without acknowledging her, her brother grabbed her hand and pulled her up from the bed.

"Come on, we have to leave this place."

"Why? What's going on?"

Alexander gave no answer as they quickly made their way out of the child's sleeping quarters. Outside shadows of dark fiery flames flickered back and forth and shouts and cries ignited into the air in shrill, urgent voices. Alert and scared, Emma kept her eyes open. Everyone was running all about and each one of them as frantic and as disoriented as she was. The smell of smoke and blood was heavy in the air.

"Alex?" Emma called, wincing as her brother tugged her arm to make her walk faster. They were not walking though. They were running. But from what? "Brother, what's happening?"

"There's too many of them!"

"Attack! Kill them all!"

A war cry burst forth into the confines of the courtyard just as a loud banging echoed throughout the compound. The palace was being seized. Her father had spoken of it sometimes but never had she thought it would come so soon. Tears of fear obscured her vision at the thought.

"There! Those brats are over there! Get them!"

"Go, come on, go!" The prince rushed.

Alexander quickly pulled his sister up into his arms and ran for his life, the sword in his arm a witness to the desperation that gnawed at him. Cradled into his chest so she wouldn't be able to see the horrors of death and murders, Emma nevertheless saw it and smelled it. The smell of blood was all over her brother's robes, staining her face with it whenever another victim fell at her brother's hand.

Untouched by fire, injuries, or enemies, Emma and Alexander rushed to the library and closed the double doors as soon as they entered. Although darkness hindered their sights, Alexander set his sister down and effectively jammed the doors with some furniture to prevent anyone from entering. They would be safe here. They would definitely be safe here.

Alexander collapsed onto the sofa he had pulled against the door and sighed in relief. The sword he had used to kill slipped from his quivering hand and clattered to the floor, dirty and bloodied. At the sound, the young Emma turned to look at her brother. The blood that caked her face gave her an almost eerie demeanor but her brilliant albeit shaky smile was familiar and touching.

"Are you alright?" Emma asked.

Alexander opened his mouth to say something positive when his eyes caught sight of something moving in the darkness behind his sister. He immediately grabbed his sword and pushed his sister behind him. A clash of metal against flesh had a sword thrusting itself through Alexander's chest, protruding from his back towards Emma as the child feebly fell to the floor.

The gleaming iron blade that protruded from Alexander's side was tainted with blood. It spurted out from both sides, gushed downwards, and stained his attire red. The hot liquid burst from the wound and splattered all over her as Emma turned to look at what was happening, dark red blood streaming down her pristine face like artful tears laced with urgency, shock, and protection.

Alexander turned around to look at her then, blood slithering down from his lips and his face deathly pale. His eyes stared at her dazzingly, the once deep brown pupils now glazed with death.

"Alex!" Emma hissed out.

A sharp intake of breath caught in Emma's throat as Alexander fell from where he stood. Before Emma's mind could even register the death of her brother, claws suddenly grabbed onto the child's wrists and gripped it hard before slamming her fragile body against the bookshelf on the other side of the room.

Pain shot through her body at the impact but she didn't dare scream. To scream would signal her whereabouts to those who sought to kill her. Familiar hands went about the length of her neck and tightened the grip to suffocate Emma.

"N-Nurse?" Emma choked out. "W-Why?"

"Shhhh," the nurse replied. "I'll make it a painless death, young Emma. It'll be painless. Just cooperate with me."

"N-Nurse..."

Emma's eyes widened even further when she saw her personal nurse take out a knife from the sleeve of her dress, its sharp edge a real beauty against the moonlight and bloody night outside. What to do? What do to? She can't die. Her father was fighting out there for her. She can't die. But even the great Alexander, the savior of the world, died. How can she live?

"Don't..." Emma whispered.

A cold sharp force suddenly pressed itself against her stomach and tore through her flesh, prying inside to draw out her blood. Emma wanted to scream from the sheer pain and screamed she did. It never did her any good.

| o | o | o |

On the outskirt of the city, Malfoy Manor was in an uproar. Residents of the estate were all awake and alert as they rushed in and out of the manor's hallways in haste, carrying messages and other errands about. The illuminations of torches and candles of the manor burned brightly against the backdrop of the night. Narcissa Malfoy, Lady of the Manor, paced back and forth in the drawing room.

"My lady," an attendant called to her.

The lady stopped walking and turned to the servant.

"Speak."

"The Lord has returned."

"Where is he?"

"Here," a voice replied.

Left State Councillor Lucius Malfoy entered the room, his intimidating presence and rough physique all but a charade in the eyes of his wife. The coagulated blood that stained his armor was more than enough to cause alarm, but given the circumstances, it was to be expected. Upon hearing the news of the attack, he had left quite urgently to the Summer Palace to aid the royal family.

It's been more than five hours since then.

"Leave us," Narcissa commanded her attendants.

At the exit of their attendants, Lucius Malfoy snapped out of his calm demeanor and threw the sword he held in his hand across the room in anger. Narcissa did not flinch. Making way towards the writing desk on the other side of the room, Lucius violently pushed all the items on the desk to the floor and slammed his bloodied hands against the surface of the wood, grunting and screaming in silence. Ink bottles, porcelain decorations, and quills broke and shattered upon impact.

"Lucius," Narcissa whispered from where she stood five feet away watching him.

"The King has passed away," said Lucius. Narcissa gasped.

"It can't be." Unnerved, Narcissa made way towards a chair and sat down. "What about the Queen? The Princess? The Prince?"

"Alexander might not make it through tonight," Lucius replied with a shake of his head. "As for the others..."

"It was a conspiracy!" Narcissa claimed. "The coup d'etat was definitely the work of the various factions against us! They do not want the unification of Emma and Draco which will make royal authority stronger and better, hence they had ensued such beguiling outcomes. It is unacceptable."

"Narcissa," said Lucius. The once weakened Malfoy patriarch straightened his stance, turned around, and stared hard at his wife. "Now that King Richard is dead, Rodolphus Lestrange, who led the coup d'etat and fled the scene, will do anything in his power to take the throne for his own master. We must prevent it."

"Rodolphus Lestrange? Then that means... Emma and Draco's marriage was only three moons away. How could he... How could...!"

"Compose yourself, Narcissa. What's crucial in this battle is no longer the union between Emma and Draco, but rather to keep these debauched officials in check. Before we know whether or not Alexander will make it, we must keep the peace. If not for him, then for the King."

"But you said Alexander might not... Is it serious?"

"Very. Regardless of what happens, we cannot let Rodolphus Lestrange's master take the throne. I will not falter after the King forfeited his own life for this cause." Lucius declared, dark gray eyes shining with anger and determination.

Narcissa gazed into her husband's eyes, uncertain and dreadful but surely influenced by the man's exhortation.

"My lord and lady," the attendant standing outside the chamber called in. "Healer Peter Pettigrew seeks an audience."

Narcissa and Lucius exchanged looks.

"Bring him in right away."

As the doors slid open, Peter Pettigrew entered obviously bearing news. His entire demeanor was jolted by the fashion of his entrance and shaken by the way he held onto the scroll in his hand. Kneeling down to the floor, the healer bowed to the Lord and Lady of the Manor.

"Your servant pays his respects to My Lord and My Lady. Allow me to greet you humbly."

"What have you to report to me?" Lucius inquired.

The healer frowned deeply and wavered.

"Th-That is..."

"Speak at once!"

"Reporting to my lord," Peter Pettigrew looked up from the floor. "Prince Alexander made it through the critical stage. He will survive."

| o | o | o |

Nearly twelve hours after the Summer Palace was sieged, Magistrate Johnathan Granger rushed into the courtyard of the peasant's house fraught with worry. Disregarding the dirtiness of the house as he approached the door leading to the house, the magistrate walked and stopped right in front of his servant.

"Welcome, my lord." The servant bowed to him.

"Where is she?"

"Inside, my lord."

With a grim look on his face, Magistrate Granger slipped into the one-room house to find a physician meticulously dipping a wet cloth into a basin of a violent red color. It was blood. He frowned slightly at the sickening sight but as his eyes fell to the source of where the blood came from, he immediately knelt down next to the body of the little one. Watching her carefully, the magistrate stroked the child's face. Her eyes were closed but occasionally the eyelids would twitch and she would murmur inaudibly.

"How is she?" asked the magistrate.

"The child's critical condition has now stabilized, my lord." The physician replied. "I've successful removed the remnants of the blade and sutured the wounds."

"Then your services are no longer needed." Magistrate Granger turned to his faithful servant. "Get ready to leave."

"As you wish, my lord." The servant bowed to his master and stealthily slipped out of the house.

"Leave?" The physician seemed surprise at the statement. "My lord, however stable she might be, it's essential that you do not travel. Any sudden movement would cause the newly inserted sutures to break and the wounds to op-"

"Then make it so that it doesn't." Magistrate Granger interrupted. "My child and I are on our way to Moorwich. We must make it back by the next moon."

"Bu-"

Ignoring the physician, the magistrate turned to the injured child and gently touched the child's head once again to brush away the layer of perspiration on her forehead.

"Father..." She called out, her hands twitching. "Father..."

"Sshhhhh," The magistrate said softly, taking her twitching hands in hers and petting it lightly. "I'm here, Hermione, I'm here."

He stroked her forehead again.

"My lord!"

With a steady slowness, the nobleman tucked the child's feverish hands back inside the blanket covering her body and turned to look at his servant.

"Yes?"

The servant gave a glance at the physician who was tending to the injured child and cleared his throat.

"A coup d'etat took place last night. King Richard has fallen."

A pause.

"Then it's past time we depart from the capital."

**Author's Note ::** And there you have it, the prologue of The Missing Princess. The story will start out pretty slow so hang with me for a bit. Thanks. :D


	2. Chosen

**Disclaimer :: **The following is a work of fan fiction based on the popular series Harry Potter created by the wonderful JK Rowling. No offense is intended towards JK Rowling or her work. All historical contents represented within this Regency-era story are fabricated. However, this fan fiction is 100% written by me unless otherwise indicated.

**Author's Note:: **_The Missing Princess_ is a mixture of angst, mystery, and action. If you are squirmy when it comes to sexual acts, chapters full of angst, or gory depictions of death, it is my regret to inform you that this fan fiction might not be the right one for you. Please read at your own risk.

**Chapter 2: Chosen  
**

_The Country of Aris_

_Mallengraul, Capital of Aris_

_Hogwarts Castle_

_King Alexander Duval's 8th year in reign_

On a cold, spring night, a young nobleman watched the ethereal and lonely moon hanging among the dark skies of the night and sighed. Silently shaking his head as he thought about the affairs of the state, he turned his gaze to the scenery about him.

The lush green trees seemed awfully dense in the darkness and the once-brilliant flowers decorating the garden had wilted for the night. Apart from the lustrous moon illuminating the spot where he sat, the seven-stringed cittern lying on the marbled table was the only other thing that caught his attention. A long woeful sigh escaped the young man's lips again before being drowned by a rush of cool burning wine down his throat.

With a beguiling grunt, the young man pushed the wine bottle and its cup aside and reached for the brass-stringed cittern. Quick, sharp musical notes flashed through the barren garden as he played with the strings on the instrument. The euphonious melody that he constructed softened but complimented the sounds of nature around him in a series of wind whistles, rustling leaves, and striking music notes. He was so entertained by his own creation that he did not hear the footsteps that suddenly broke the natural sounds inside the garden. Each step was meticulously thought out, each note hiding the sound of the steps as if on purpose.

A middle-aged woman garbed in cotton teal robes appeared from the darkness of the night. In her hand was a tray of sweet delicacies and a porcelain tea pot brimming with hot water. For several minutes, the woman watched the young man play the cittern as if in a trance, her eyes never leaving him as she slowly took steps to approach the table where he sat. Several feet from the table, she stopped and went to her knees, giving respect to the young man before her. He continued to strike his fingers upon the cittern, not recognizing her presence.

"Your Majesty," the woman called out. Her voice quivered at the awful presence of the man in front of her. When he ignored her, she lowered her gaze. "Y-Your Majesty."

The music stopped.

The strings ceased reverberating.

Draco Malfoy removed his delicate nimble fingers from the seven-stringed cittern. His pale gray eyes flickered open and close in repetition before stopping at the opened position. The lashes curving from the edges of his eyelids, pairing with the drawing of his eyebrows created a fierce look upon his features. He turned to stare at the maid on the floor next to him and tilted his head, inspecting her carefully.

"What is it?" He inquired. The timbre of his voice was rich and deep, quickly accentuating his superior status with each utterance. "What is so important that you would risk your life interrupting your king?"

"Reporting to Your Majesty," The woman trembled as she spoke. "T-The Queen Consort, knowing you are again working late, sent these midnight snacks for you to enjoy."

"If she wanted me to enjoy the night, she should have sent a courtesan to me. I do better with beautiful company by my side." The king retorted. He glanced down at the maid before him and smiled. "Would you be my company tonight?"

"Y-Your Majesty!" The maid sunk lower on the ground, obviously stating her protests.

Draco licked his lips and looked away from the disgusting wench at his feet. He played with the strings on the cittern and once again ignored the maid. Taking his disregard as a sign of consent, the maid got up from the ground with the tray of food and set it on the stone table. Transferring the dishes from the tray to the table, the maid's hands trembled. She had never been so close to the king before and his very presence daunted her, regardless of his young age.

Draco lowered his eyes towards the maid's soft porcelain hands and licked his lips at the seduction. As soon as the maid finished setting the desserts on the table, he grabbed her hand and pulled the woman into his lap. The maid screamed and struggled to break free from the king's strong arms, but he held her down with one hand while his other hand freely roamed her body as he pleased. His sardonic laughter kissed her body in chilling goose flesh.

Quick thumping footsteps suddenly came close to the table and the sound of metal scraping against metal reverberated through the silence. A bright light reflected from the darkness and Draco's lips curved into a smile when he saw it. He grabbed the golden tray on the table with his hand and quickly guarded himself against the sudden slash of a steel sword. The maid shrieked as she was thrown from the king's lap to the ground several feet away from him, clearly befuddled at what was happening. As she regained her stability, she scurried to her feet and ran from the scene.

Draco Malfoy rose from his seat, his eyes watching the one standing just two feet from his with anger and fury. The assassin that dared to charge at him was a woman. He could tell everything from the eyes. Her eyes were round and large, quite intriguingly enticing with its curving dark lashes and shaped eyebrows. Even though her face was covered by a black mask and the form of her body was hidden in a man's outfit, she was definitely a woman. He stared at her for a second and threw the dented golden tray away, forcing the assassin to exert her strength to bring her sword back to her side.

"I was wondering when you would attack," Draco drawled out slowly.

"How dare you assault an innocent girl like that?" The assassin hissed, spitting venom from her mouth. "This empire does not need a despotic king like you, indulging himself on wine, women, and food like a glutton and deviant."

"People say that I, King Alexander Duval, am the best monarch Aris has ever seen." Draco slowly moved towards the table, keeping his eyes clearly on the assassin for any signs of movement. "Why would you want to kill me? Who sent you? Engynia? Maeng? Or are you one of those who feel so wronged by my reforms that you want to overthrow the government and bring about a new order with your own bare, dirty hands? Is that who you are? A dirty usurper?"

"You don't need to know." The assassin took a step back. "All you need to know is that you will die soon!"

As soon as the assassin charged forward to attack him, Draco rushed to the stone table and threw the hot tea pot at her. The hot water splashed across the ground, scorching her in her right leg. But evidently, the pain did not stop her and she assaulted him with scores of sword slashing this way and that. Her sword form was perfect but her technique was impossibly juvenile and Draco easily evaded her aggression.

To Draco, despite the danger that the assassin posed with her sharp bastard sword to his life, he felt that they were playing a game. She was the cat, hungry and powerful, and he was the meek, weak mouse. At one point during their cat-and-mouse chase, the assassin exerted all her strength and caught up to the playing, amused Draco. Her sword would have cut through his stomach had he not been agile enough. He had quickly snatched the cittern from the table and used that as shield to guard himself from the assassin's attack.

The stabbing motion that the assassin used to kill Draco became her downfall because as soon as the blade smashed through the cittern's board, the seven strings on the instrument snapped loose and hit her wrist seven times. The blade of the sword lodged itself inside the wood and when the assassin tried to pull the sword back, she could not. Taking that moment to his advantage, Draco pulled the cittern towards him and in turn pulled the assassin into his arms as well.

As she approached him, unwilling to let go of her weapon, he slammed his hand against her locked wrist and swept his leg across the ground. The assassin let out a scream as the bone on her right wrist cracked and immediately collapsed to her knees in front of the king. Draco effortlessly pulled the sword from its place on the cittern board and graced the sharp blade on the assassin's neck with a smile on his face.

"Your attacks are quite barbaric," said the young man with a laugh. "You must really be a dirty, pesky, little usurper."

The assassin groaned from the pain of the king's sudden attack and looked at him, sweat slipping down her face like tears as hate shot through her eyes. The sound of a thousand footsteps suddenly shook the earth and before anyone knew it, an actual army of soldiers appeared from all sides of the garden like fireflies to a fire, gathering and spreading around the king and the fallen assassin. In the ring of torches, humans, swords, and shields, the Commanding General of the Royal Guards Antonin Dolohov stepped up right in front of the young man and roughly patted him on the back.

"I never knew you had it in you, young Malfoy." The general chuckled.

"Malfoy?" The assassin screeched out. "You're not the king?"

"Shut up, wench!" Antonin smacked the woman and she collapsed back onto the floor in whimpers.

Throwing both the cittern board and the sword on the floor, Draco reached over and washed his hands with the wine dripping from the table.

"Where is the king?" He asked. "Is he still chatting with my father?"

"Yes," replied Dolohov. "You should return to the Manor."

"Very well."

Draco acknowledged the general with a nod of his head and he turned his heels, walking away from the courtyard just as a horrified scream echoed through the peaceful, night air.

**| o | o | o |**

"May the officials now assemble in High Court Hall. Court is about to commence."

On command, fifty officials of the Court entered High Court Hall of Hogwarts Castle all dressed in their best court attires consisting of various shades of blue, green, red, and yellow. As they entered, the shine of the burning sun from the large stained glass window at the top of the hall illuminated four long tables laid with scrolls, paper weights, ink, and quills for each individual. Having gotten used to the procession, the court officials went to their prospective seats at the tables and waited.

A few minutes after the summoning, the double mahogany doors leading to High Court Hall opened once again and four officials of the highest ranks entered. At the juncture where the tables started, West State Councillor Tom Riddle , a pale middle-aged man with a skeletally thin body, nodded to his companions and took off towards his seat at the table in the far left side. North State Minister Lucius Malfoy, a lithe man with pale blond hair, followed his companion's example, bid the others farewell, and took his seat at the middle left table.

Left alone, East State Councillor Albus Dumbledore, a genuinely old man with silver hair and beard, turned to his fellow associate and exchanged comforting words with the tall black man at his side. South State Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt in turn returned the old councillor's sincerity and the two shook hands before approaching their respective seats at the remaining two tables.

As soon as all the Councillors and Ministers were seated, the entire court fell into a silence filled with unspoken tensions and underlining hostility as the fifty four officials waited for the appearance of their sovereign. At the top of the hall and separated from the rest by a seven tiered raised dais was the throne, gilded gold leaf limning the profile of the seat with an aura of extravagant wealth. Whenever sunlight flashed through from the stained glass window behind the seat, colors of sapphires, rubies, topaz, and emeralds sparkled brilliantly.

"His Royal Majesty Alexander Damien Terrence Duval, King of Aris deigns you with his presence. Hail to the King."

At once, all fifty four officials stood up from their seats at the four tables and knelt down to the marble floor, watching with bated breath as the King entered with his entourage of servants. Although he was garbed in the finest robes in the country and wore the crown that signified his heavenly status, the King's weak and feeble build was unquestionably pitiful as he could not make it up to the dais without the help of the Royal Secretary Bellatrix Lestrange flanking his side. Silence reigned the hall until the king settled down in his throne with some difficulty.

"Long live His Majesty the King! Long live His Majesty the King! Live on for thousands of years." The officials bellowed out as they acknowledged their sovereign with the utmost respect suitable of his title. "Long live His Majesty the King! Long live His Majesty the King! Live on for thousands of years."

The court meeting began almost immediately after all the pleasant greetings were exchanged and lasted for more than three hours as all aspects of governing a country were tackled. Even before the court session started, the tension between the west and north, the east and south factions was strained but this tension morphed into hostility as the court session continued on without a break. Conversations became arguments and and debates suddenly became competition but no one stopped it. The battle between the west and east faction with their minor factions north and south respectively was a long standing one reaching far back as King Richard Duval's reign.

"Now," the king's voice drawled. "Is there anything else to report or is that all for this morning?"

Before the king could adjourn the court session, the Royal Secretary walked out from where she stood behind the throne and whispered something into the king's ears. The sovereign's expression changed from wariness to anger and then simmered down to frustration as the two argued softly. A moment later, Bellatrix nodded her head and returned back to her spot behind the throne as the king faced the crowd of officials. After a few moment of silence, the king spoke.

"It has come to my attention that talks of Aris' succeeding heir has been circulating throughout Mallengraul recently." Murmurs broke out throughout High Court Hall. "I'm sure that many of you here know that the aftermath of the Death Eater Rebellion eight years was horrendous. The prominent Longbottom family was nearly obliterated, the McKinnons were brutally massacred, and hundreds of maids and servants at the Summer Palace were mutilated by Death Eaters. The royal Duval family itself suffered greatly with the fall of the late King Richard and the dispersal of family members throughout the country. As a result of the rebellion, the Duval family has no heir."

"My King," South State Minister Shacklebolt stood up to address his sovereign. "I am sure-"

"What I mean is, Minister, I am infertile." The king confessed with great difficulty. "The injuries I received from the Death Eater Rebellion has prevented me from producing an heir. Therefore, with my ailing health, many are concerned about who will succeed after me. Which leads me to my next point. I propose we conduct a search."

Everyone waited for the king to continue but when he did not, Dumbledore got up from his seat.

"Your Majesty, if what I've gathered from your statement is correct, do you mean you plan to search for the missing heir, Princess Emmaline?"

"You are correct, Councillor." The king nodded. "Princess Emmaline's body was never found after the Death Eater Rebellion was subdued. I believe she is still alive."

"But how can that be possible?" Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow.

"How can it not be? I survived, did I not?"

Shacklebolt opened his mouth to reply to the king but stopped when Lucius Malfoy took a stand.

"Minister Shacklebolt," Malfoy addressed calmly. "Eight years ago, the Death Eater Rebellion brought turmoil to the nation by separating the reigning Duval family. Some fled the country, others went to remote areas of the countryside, and those who stayed behind died. Despite the harsh environment during that period, you cannot say that none of the royal family survived. As His Majesty just said, the Princess' body was never found. I am sure she is still out there somewhere, waiting for us. We must find her."

"There may be some reason to your thinking, Minister." Dumbledore retorted. "However, the search for Princess Emmaline will be difficult given how long it has been since His Majesty saw her last. In addition to that, once we find someone who claims to be the Princess, there is no concrete proof that can validate her identity. The search for the princess might offer more dangers than necessary."

"That may be true," Tom Riddle rose, acknowledged the king with a nod of his head, and turned to face Dumbledore. "But I believe we have an ace in our hands, Councillor Dumbledore."

"And what is that ace card?"

"Be rest assured, Councillor." King Alexander said. All eyes turned to him. "Aside from myself, we also have someone else who can validate the princess's identity when the time comes."

"But my King, Pr-" Shacklebolt started to say.

"Enough," commanded the king, silencing all with his sonorous voice. "My decision is final. The search for Princess Emmaline and the remaining members of the Royal Family will commence regardless of protests. I simply need someone to conduct the search. The question is, who shall be the chosen one to do it?"

No one spoke as the ominous question sunk in. Despite the simplicity of the job description, all the officials at the court knew the dangers involved in the task of searching for Princess Emmaline. Should the search fall through, the task bearer and his family would be condemned for its failure. Should the search prove successful and the supposed princess is exposed to be a fraud, all involved parties shall be executed. It was a seemingly impossible task that held no true glory.

"My Lord and King," Antonin Dolohov stood up from his seat, approached the dais, and knelt down in front of his sovereign.

"Dolohov," acknowledged the King. "You, the Commanding General of the Royal Guards, want to be my chosen one?"

"As much as I wish to aid you, my King, I know I serve a better purpose here at Hogwarts protecting you. I do, however, have a recommendation."

"Yes?"

"Last night at the hour of the Capricorn, the Royal Guards Society captured an assassin who impersonated a maid to kill you. Although I would like the honor for myself, this task wouldn't have been possible had it not been for the courageous efforts of the young Draco Malfoy. I believe he is suitable for this task."

"Draco Malfoy?" The king looked down at the head of the North faction. "Minister Malfoy, did you know about this?"

"No, my King." Malfoy replied, flustered. "However, as your humble servant understands it, my son is a member of the Royal Guards and it is his duty to protect you. Such accomplishments do not deserve your praise."

"You are too humble, Malfoy." Riddle chuckled. "Your Majesty, I have met the young Malfoy and the boy is brilliant as he is cunning, calculative as he is observant. He is perfect for this task. I have no doubts about it."

"And what have you to say about the Councillor and General's suggestion, Malfoy?" The king drawled, his tired brown eyes intent on watching the minister in question. "Do you think your son can accomplish this mission at his age? What is he, no less than sixteen?"

"He..." Malfoy paused in a brief pause of indecision. "My son lives to serve you, my King. He will do the best he can."

"That is all I ask for."

King Alexander chuckled and turned his attention to everyone in the hall. Royal Secretary Bellatrix Lestrange approached the edge of the dais with an open decree in hand, her eyes scouring the entire hall. When she captured everyone's attention, she began to read from the decree for all to hear.

**| o | o | o |**

A rap on the door brought the sixteen year old Draco Malfoy from the pleasure he was indulging himself in. With the ceaseless loud noises coming from the courtyard below, he knew his father already came back from a late court session at Hogwarts and as the son, he was expected to go and greet the North State Minister. But he did not want to leave the warmth of the bed nor the scantily clad woman in his arms. His resolve vanished however when the person outside the door pounded on it again.

"I'll be right there." Draco growled out.

Cautiously as to not raise suspicion, he smeared the fluid dripping from his lips and rushed to the basin near the window to wash his face. There should be no traces of his pleasure. Once finished, he dried his face with a cloth and glanced back at the woman. She was lying on the bed with nothing but a white blanket over her body, her legs raised and spread to reveal a hint of peach colored skin. She was licking the fluid that they both took pleasure in drinking.

Shaking his head to get rid of his physical desires, Draco tore his eyes from the sight and proceeded to make himself decent. He adjusted the ties of his fingerless armlets and securely tied it in several knots near his elbow before grabbing the blade at the table next to him. A few more accessories added to his belt like a small dagger and other formidable arms and he should be set.

"Are you expecting someone?" The woman inquired as she made her way to the window on the other side of the bed.

"You shouldn't be surprised if there are visitors. This is Malfoy Manor after all." Draco replied with a hint of annoyance. "Show yourself out after me."

Without a glance back at the woman, he snatched a ribbon three centimeters wide hanging from the stand near the door and walked out of the room. Like he had expected, his personal attendant Vincent Crabbe was waiting for him on the other side looking rather confused and hungry. Opting to ignore the attendant, he tied the ribbon to his upper left arm and relished at the stark contrast of the bright blue ribbon against the dark black of his attire.

"Are you always lusting, sir?" Vincent asked as they proceeded down the dark hallway without the assistance of a torch light. "What would your parents think if they find out you're consorting wi-"

"Silence!" Draco hissed and he reveled at the fact that the chivalrous noble was flinching at the sound of his deep voice. "Why have you called for me?"

"The Lord of the Manor has returned," the attendant replied immediately.

"I can very well see that without your worthless announcements."

"Lord Riddle, Lord Snape, and Madame Lestrange accompanied him."

"What?"

The question was left unanswered as the servant and master turned the corner and reached the drawing room of the Manor. An older servant was standing at the entrance to the room, acknowledging the young master and gesturing for him to enter. The tension that held the old servant's body rigid and erect was an uncanny sight because for as long as he knew the man, he never looked more scared than he did now. Wary but more curious than ever, Draco straightened his attire, took another glance at the old servant, and entered the room without another word.

The immaculate drawing room of Malfoy Manor almost had the perfect atmosphere for a lazy night of light reading with comfortable chairs surrounding the flaming hearth to the right of the room. Rows and rows of bookshelves were aligned at the left wall and the floor was decorated with an expensive Oriental rug imported from Maeng. It was almost perfect, except for the hostile auras that exuded from the various men and women sitting in the chairs by the hearth.

From the entrance, Draco easily spotted his parents' trademark long blond hair and noted that they were sitting directly across from West State Councillor Riddle who sat on the daybed. Royal Secretary Bellatrix Lestrange sat on the Councillor's right, her nimble nervous fingers touching the Councillor's body inconspicuously when she thought no one was looking. Director of the Tribunal and Draco's old mentor Severus Snape sat rigid at the armchair in the far corner of the niche. At the sound of the double doors closing after Draco, five pairs of eyes turned to the source of the sound and Draco found himself automatically sinking down to his knees before his superiors.

"Your subordinate, Draco Malfoy, pays his respects to Lord Riddle, Lord Snape, Madame Lestrange." Draco acknowledged slowly, ignoring the blatant stares of the three guests as their penetrating eyes seized him up. He glanced at his parents and was surprised at the worry he saw swimming in their eyes albeit their emotionless faces. "Father, Mother."

A pause.

"Draco Malfoy," Tom Riddle beckoned with a finger. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course, my lord." Draco replied calmly even though he was anything but calm on the inside. Having had received lessons on diplomacy at an early age, Draco recovered from his minor shock of seeing both the Councillor and the Secretary in his home before schooling his face to remain emotionless. "How can I not if people both noble and dirty all whisper your name on the streets?"

"Is that right?" Riddle threw his head back and laughed hysterically. When he calmed down, he returned his gaze to the Malfoy boy again. "What have they said about me?"

"They have said many things, my lord." Draco paused, choosing his words carefully. "Tom Riddle is a quiet, albeit brilliant man, highly intelligent and charismatic. He's an exceptionally skilled duelist and he's able to inspire many powerful and influential politicians to follow him as loyal subjects. I wish I could be like him."

"And do you?"

"Pardon?" The question came out of nowhere and Draco found himself looking up from the floor to glance at the man interrogating him.

"Do you wish you could be like me?"

The loaded question lingered in the air.

"I would be lying if I say I do not." Draco replied. His lovely aunt Bellatrix scoffed at his answer but he paid her no mind. "However, no one can replace you, my Lord. I wouldn't dare to."

Draco felt Riddle's stare on him, burning the top of his head as the man continued to watch contemplatively. After a moment of silence, Riddle let out another laugh. The tension in Draco's body relaxed for a bit at the sound. Instead of the cynical, almost neurotic laugh from before, this one was laced with pure amusement. He was pleased.

"Get up," Riddle commanded. Draco obliged and got up from the floor, dusting his knees during the process. "Come sit with me. Madame Lestrange has some good news for you."

Straightening her posture, Bellatrix patted the vacant seat to her right and gestured for him to occupy it. Honored and proud that he had passed the unspoken test, Draco eagerly took several steps forward and reached the chairs. At such close proximities with the man who was considered the most powerful politician since Salazar Slytherin, the sixteen-year-old boy trembled slightly. But all of that disappeared when he took a seat next to his aunt. While she offered no form of comfort, the security of the chair and Riddle's previous approval of him was enough.

"What is this news you speak of, my Lord?" Draco asked carefully, humbly lowering his gaze to the floor.

"Bellatrix, read the decree to him." Riddle urged.

Obeying the Riddle's command like a good little woman, Draco's aunt took an imperial decree from the sleeve of her dress and opened it, the peony insignia plastered on the back of the decree sticking out like a sore thorn. Draco glanced at his parents from the corner of his eyes. If he didn't know her for so long, he would have thought his mother did not care about the royal decree at all. However, the tensing of her shoulders and the way her right arm dug into her father's robes said something completely different.

"By the King's command Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of North State Minister Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, will be promoted to Commanding Officer of the Tribunal overseeing the search for members of the Royal Family and most specifically Her Royal Highness Princess Emmaline Duerre Charlotte Duval. He is to be granted unlimited access to the Restricted Section of the Royal Library during the initial research period. A monetary funding of 10,000 galleons is to be bestowed upon him annually for travel expenses incurred during the search and the 129th Royal Dispatch Seal will be given to him before his departure from Mallengraul to call for soldiers when he finds it necessary. So let it be written, so it shall be done."

Draco Malfoy didn't know whether or not he should be happy with the new promotion. For one thing, it was rather unexpected. Although he had successfully captured the assassin last night, his efforts would have been praised for bravery at most. Since he was a junior Royal Guard who was initiated into the society less than three months ago, his accomplishment last night did not merit such a high jump in rank. Regardless of his father's reputation and prestige, it was too much. That also didn't explain the presence of the West State Councillor and Director of the Tribunal. What was going on?

"Malfoy, my boy," Riddle's voice penetrated Draco's contemplation and he looked past Bellatrix to the Councillor. "Can you accomplish this task?"

"My lord," Draco paused. "I was chosen. I will do it."

"Very good, very good." Riddle turned to look at Draco's parents and the boy found himself looking at them too, utterly disoriented with the current situation. "Lucius, Narcissa... tell me. Are you loyal to the Duval family or to me?"

At the insinuation, both Lucius and Narcissa fell to their knees in front of Riddle and put their heads against the floor in the ultimate form of submission.

"My lord, the Malfoy family swears our loyalty to you." Lucius whimpered. Draco's eyes widened at the blatant confession of treason from his father's lips. "Only to you, my Lord."

"Then do I have your permission to give your son the task I have for him?"

"Yes, yes, anything for you."

"And you, Draco?"

Draco looked up from the floor where his parents knelt and turned to look at Tom Riddle, the most powerful man in all of Aris as of late. Although the current King was a generous, good, and able administrator, the political confusion created by the many corrupt officials of the court after the rebellion had weakened the government. It was only through the meticulous guidance of Tom Riddle that had regained the government's power and strengthened the system after such an ordeal.

Right now, Alexander Duval had the title of King but the true power of Aris lies with those who saved the nation after the Death Eater Rebellion eight years ago. It was Tom Riddle and his associates who had placed the King in power and they can, at any given moment, easily overthrow the King. Given all the things he had heard tonight about allegiances and where loyalties lie, Draco now got the gist of the current discussion between his parents, Tom Riddle, and Bellatrix. Tom Riddle was planning to commit treason and wanted to know if the Malfoy family and Draco himself would choose his side or the King's.

"My lord," Draco said. "I am yours."

Riddle didn't even skip a beat when he commanded:

"Kill Princess Emmaline." Draco's eyes widened at the command and wanted to say something about it but stopped himself before he did anything foolish. "Either you kill the princess or bring her to me and let me destroy her myself. That is your task from me, Draco Malfoy. Prove to me where your loyalties lie."

"Yes, my Lord." Draco watched as Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange got up from their seats next to him and shivered at the feeling of them watching his every move. Bowing his head, Draco knelt down to the floor next to his parents, touched his forehead to the floor, and admitted defeat. "You will not be disappointed."

"Very well."

Nothing but silence reigned as West State Councillor and the Royal Secretary left Malfoy Manor's drawing room, their strong, bold movements across the room a loud testimony to the confidence they had inside of them. Minutes after they left, Lucius Malfoy let go of his self control and collapsed back against the chair he had been sitting on. His wife, Narcissa, was almost in the same state. As for Draco, he simply stayed in his kneeling, submissive position, unable to move even an inch as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened. Severus Snape remained in his seat, unmoving like a statue since he first arrived over an hour ago.

"If you're my son at all, you would have reached the same conclusions I did when I first heard the decree." Lucius said after some time. "Bidding you to find missing members of the Royal Family and reuniting them with the King sounds easy enough but-"

"It's an impossible task," Draco finished with a hissing scowl. He sat up from his prostrating position. "Ho-"

"Over two hundred relatives went missing eight years ago." Narcissa informed her son. "Initial research and inquiries aside, it'll take you years to find all of them and we're not even sure all of them survived. Draco, if you manage to find legitimate relatives, that will be splendid. It will bring glory to the Malfoy name. However, there is a risk of impostors cheating you. You will be punished severely for attempting to deceive His Majesty through faults not of your own.

"Furthermore, everyone in Aris knows other members of the Royal Family either fled the country unwilling to return or are dead. His Majesty is sending you to catch whales in an ocean that offers not even a tiny plankton! However you go about accomplishing this task, you will get the short end of the stick. It is dangerous."

"And that is only King Alexander's task." Lucius reminded his wife and son. "_His _task is a different story."

"You cannot save this child, Malfoy." Severus Snape spoke for the first time since he entered the room. Both father and son simultaneously flinched at the name, the former more so than the latter. The mother gave no indications she cared. "Had you not been so incompetent eight years ago and actually succeeded in capturing King Richard, you would not have landed yourself in this situation. This is your punishment for failing him.

"Unlike you, Lucius..." Snape's dark raven eyes penetrated the son's mind as he continued to speak to the father. "Draco must not fail his task from Riddle. Find the wretched family members, find substitute scapegoats, lie about them, or really kill them off if he has to. He cannot fail. If he does, then the Malfoy family will fall."

Letting out a choked sob, Narcissa turned to her husband for comfort. The latter willingly opened his arms and embraced his wife, whispering soothing words to console the frightened woman. The young Malfoy, his face pale and his demeanor silent, could only watch on as his parents found comfort in each other about what seemed to be his imminent death. Snape stared at the Malfoy family in disapproval, scorn marring his rather wretched face, but said nothing more as he got up from his seat. It was clearly a private, mourning moment between a family and he did not care to see the disgusting familial romance involved.

"Severus," Narcissa's quivering voice called out before he stepped over the threshold.

"Yes?" Snape asked with a quirk of his eyebrows.

"He's... **He's just a boy**." The woman pleaded silently with her eyes.

A pause.

"**I can't change** Riddle's** mind**."

With that final comment, the Director of the Tribunal walked out of the drawing room, his robes billowing freely behind him.

**| o | o | o |**

Grimmauld Place was the ancestral home of the House of Black for many generations. As such, enchantments, bobby traps, and various other methods were employed to protect the grounds from those who aimed to harm the members of the Black family. If written down, the list of would-be assassins would be as extensive as a twelve foot scroll given how easy the Black family made enemies. However, after Grimmauld Place was passed down to the only surviving (albeit disowned) member of the Black family, the security inside and outside the dwelling increased daily. After all, Royal Prosecutor Sirius Black's Grimmauld Place was the headquarters of the Order of Phoenix.

"Welcome back, you slimy git." Sirius Black, a well built, tall, darkly handsome man with black hair spat out as Severus Snape entered the kitchen. "Had your fill at Malfoy Manor, did you? How's my sister doing? And that blasted traitor of a husband of hers?"

"Black," Snape returned the greeting monotonously. He proceeded to ignore the man as he approached the kitchen table where Dumbledore sat at the head, waiting in silence for his report. "The boy received the news well and thoroughly entertained Riddle. He'll have no trouble finding members of the Royal family and killing them all off, unenlightened as he is on the matters of politics."

"That wretched brat!" Sirius shouted from where he sat eating a sandwich on the other side of the room. "Narcissa is really going to let him go through with this?"

"Severus," Dumbledore frowned at said man's dark sarcasm. "The boy is misinformed. You must guide him."

"I have offered the boy enough guidance to last him a lifetime," Snape growled out. "If he does not understand the implications behind His Majesty's words and is really foolish enough to finish Riddle's task, then it is beyond me. Now if you would excuse me, I must return."

Snape swiveled around but paused once again at the threshold when Dumbledore's voice stopped him.

"**Don't ignore me, Severus. We both know** Tom** ordered the Malfoy boy to murder** Princess Emmaline in his roundabout way through His Majesty. Who knows, maybe he even told the boy himself what he must do. **But should he fail, one should presume** Tom **would turn to you. You must be the one to find** Princess Emmaline**, Severus. It is the only way**."

"Albus," Sirius stood up from his seat, the calm relaxed expression on his face now replaced with a frustrated, confused expression. "You speak about this as if you know Severus will find Emmaline. How can you be so sure she's even alive?"

Dumbledore sighed and leaned back against his chair, twinkling blue eyes as he watched the two men in front of him.

"I suppose it is time for me to tell you."

At those words, Severus turned around to look at Dumbledore.

"Tell me what?"

"Eight years ago..." The old man fumbled with the ring on his finger. "Between the then Prince Alexander's marriage and Princess Emmaline's betrothal to Draco Malfoy, King Richard knew something was going to happen. Of course, he never expected the Death Eater Rebellion to reach such a devastating level but he knew Tom was up to something and he was prepared for it. As a result, he entrusted the lives of his heirs to two individuals. Secret keepers, if you will. These secret keepers were designated to risk their lives to protect the two heirs and keep them from harm."

"Who were they?" Sirius asked.

"I was Alexander's keeper." Dumbledore replied. "However, I failed in my task."

"How? He's still alive."

"You trusted Peter Pettigrew," Severus answered for the old man. "That filth betrayed your trust and poisoned Alexander's tonics without your knowledge."

"Regrettably, yes. By the time I realized what was happening, it was already too late. Alexander's health took a gradual shift for the worst and we landed ourselves in this situation. The boy is infertile and disabled. Though Alexander is the King of Aris, it is in name only. The real power lies with West State Councillor Tom Riddle and Royal Secretary Bellatrix Lestrange. Your sister, Sirius."

"She is no sister of mine!"

Once again ignoring disgraceful member of the Black family, Severus looked at Dumbledore.

"Who was Emmaline's secret keeper?"

Dumbledore lowered his head at this question and shook his head.

"I do not know."

"You do not know." Severus parroted mockingly.

"The identity of the other Secret Keeper was not made known to me."

"Then what is your point, you old fool!" Severus hissed. "Why tell us about it when you don't know half of what we need to know?"

"I know she is still alive," Dumbledore replied without as much as a raise in his voice. "On the day of Alexander's coronation, I received a letter from an unknown source. It told me Princess Emmaline is alive and so it is your job to find her before the Malfoy boy does."

"And if I don't?"

"Then she will die as soon as she returns to Hogwarts. You know Tom Riddle made sure of that."

**Author's Note::** Thank you for all the reviews and story alerts. :D It's really lovely to read them. There's going to be another time jump in the next chapter but I promise the story will start to pick up from there. Enjoy and please review! - **Eirallina**


	3. Collision

**Disclaimer :: **The following is a work of fan fiction based on the popular series Harry Potter created by the wonderful JK Rowling. No offense is intended towards JK Rowling or her work. All historical contents represented within this Regency-era story are fabricated. However, this fan fiction is 100% written by me unless otherwise indicated.

**Chapter 3: Collision**

_The Country of Aris_

_Moorwich, East of Mallengrual_

_Granger Estate_

_King Alexander Duval's 12th year in reign_

The dream that had vividly imprinted itself in her mind just moments before was now beginning vanish, confusing her with its hazy edges. Voices that had launched an attack on her were promptly receding, the altogether gentleness, scratchiness, and shrillness of the sounds fading away as other less foreign sounds burst forth. Light, sharp and bright, burned into the recess of her mind and she gasped in pain at the unexpected encounter.

Hermione Granger woke up with a start.

Disoriented due to the bright lights from the sun glistening outside her bedroom window, she gave out another loud groan and twisted her body away to block out the vile rays. But her attempts at returning to sleep failed miserably when the gentle but harsh taps on her bedroom window repeatedly forced her back to the land of the shining suns.

Groggily, Hermione pushed herself off the bed and turned her head towards the source of the noise. A little gray owl was fluttering outside, apparently having trouble positioning himself in front of the window since his frail, aging wings could not support the weight of the package tied to his legs. What was Errol doing? Recognizing the Weasley family's post owl, she pushed the blankets away, swung her legs off the bed, and padded over to the window to let Errol in. The poor gray owl fluttered into the room and dropped a brown package into the recipient's awaiting hand before swooping down to land on the mahogany vanity on the other side of the room.

"Hello to you too," said Hermione with a laugh.

Crossing the room, Hermione lazily brushed Errol's grey feathers and sat down in front of the vanity to stare at the package. Since the relationship between the Granger family and the Weasley family was close, it was not unusual for the Weasley family to send posts, letters, and packages by owl. However, it was unusual for them to send it so early in the morning and for Hermione alone. Warily, Hermione shook the package and frowned upon hearing the sounds coming from within. Rattling or any sound that do not resemble letters and papers from the Weasleys were to be treated with caution. That, Hermione learned a long time ago.

"This thing rattles," Hermione said to herself, suspicion lacing the tone of her voice.

"So?"

Catching sight of two identical young women approaching from the view reflecting from the vanity's mirror, Hermione turned her body around and watched the two Oriental women as they stopped in front of her. Identical in terms of physical appearance but different otherwise, Parvati and Padma Patil gave Hermione a small, curtsy marked by their own flairs and straightened themselves.

"Miss Hermione," they greeted.

"So..." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid it's some sort of prank set up by Fred and George."

"Ah, the twins!" Parvati, the more verbose twin, exclaimed excitedly. The blush that rushed to cover her face spoke of her embarrassment and affection for one of the two Weasley twins to be sure. "How are they doing?"

"What my sister means to ask is how is George doing." Padma said calmly, the teasing glint in her eyes anything but gentle.

"Padma!" Parvati blushed but did not deny it.

"Of course you would want to know about Sir George Weasley," Hermione grinned. Everyone at the Granger Estate knew of Parvati's secret infatuation with George Weasley and most of the Weasley family could see her crushing on the man as well. Unfortunately, the said man was completely ignorant of her feelings. "After Harry gave them some initial monetary investments, the twins opened a joke shop. You've heard about it. It's called the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They eventually moved out of the Burrow to stay in a flat above the shop and has been accumulating an abundant amount of wealth since then."

"A joke shop?"

"A magical joke shop."

"What kind of things do they sell?"

Hermione laughed at the twins' enthusiasm and started to tell them about all the products Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had in production. Although the joke shop was located at the heart of the city on High Street, Parvati and Padma weren't allowed to venture in those parts of the city due to their busy schedule back at the Granger Estate. As such, the only ways the two could hear about the Weasley twins were by Hermione's own tales or when the entire Weasley family visit during formal events which was far and few in between. After sharing several stories about Fred and George as well as their shop's products, the three girls settled back into a comfortable but amusing silence.

"They sound like a wonderful pair," Parvati stated as she brushed tears of laughter from her face. "I wonder if they're wonderful lovers as well."

"Parvati!" Padma squealed in indignation.

"What? I was just asking. They're good looking enough to have some experience in the matter."

"Young, proper women should never talk like this." Hermione chided with a shake of her head. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Oh dear lord. Hermione, you sound exactly like the governess!"

"You better be careful, Parvati, or I'll tell Lady McGonagall."

Parvati threw her head back and laughed heartily at the mention of the woman.

"Tell Lady McGonagall what? I'm in love with Miss Hermione's friend's identical twin brother? She would never believe you."

"And why is that?" Hermione glanced at the bedroom window and was surprised at the amount of light coming through. "What time is it? Do I have time for a bath or should I leave now?"

The twins exchanged glances and Hermione frowned at the suspicious action.

"Would you reprimand us if we say Ollivander is setting up shop as we speak?" Padma asked.

"What?"

"We lost track of time talking about the Wealey twins," Parvati said in an effort to salvage the situation, a nervous grin on her face.

Hermione opened her mouth as if to reprimand the two girls but closed it. Instead, she quickly got up from her seat, crossed the room to where several trunks and chests sat waiting for her, and discarded the thin dress covering her body. Grabbing an inconspicuous brown dress that paled in comparison to her first one, Hermione began to arrange her hair and wash her face from the basin one of the other servants had left behind the evening before.

Padma and Parvati, having gotten used to the routine, stood on the side as Hermione went through her daily rituals and did nothing to help her. Once Hermione finished dressing herself, she donned on a black cloak and looked over at the twins, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. She wanted to ask the two something but quickly dismissed it considering how late she was already. Her questions could come later. With a nod to the two, the young miss disappeared from the bedroom chamber.

She appeared a full ten minutes later in the stables, entering the stall where her beloved horse Vine Wood was locked in. Her unworldly presence in the stables caused the various stallions and ponies in the surrounding stalls to neigh and make awful, grunting sounds of disapproval but she ignored them all. Instead, she concentrated her full focus on saddling Vine Wood for their early morning trip. Hermione doesn't usually ride Vine Wood in the morning as she was used to walking to her destination, but Ollivander needed her help today than any other day and she would not fail him.

"Who goes there?" Someone shouted.

Hermione glanced at the horse master as he fumbled out of his little hut across the compound, bearing a torch clumsily in his hands. He peeked into the bare darkness, his eyes trying to adjust to the dim light of the rising sun and his blazing torch, but saw nothing. Taking the master's moment of confusion as her only advantage, Hermione quickly mounted Vine Wood and charged out of the stables. Just before the rider and the horse escaped into the night, the black stallion gave out a powerful neigh that knocked the master off his feet.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Filch!"

"Miss Hermione! Come back! Miss Hermione!"

**| o | o | o |**

Flourish and Blotts Bookseller, a bookshop farther up on High Street in Moorwich's popular market place, was in a state of disarray when Hermione entered. The shop was tiny for a bookshop and except for a single, spindly chair in the corner where the register was, there was absolutely no other place to sit. Thousands of narrow and fat books were piled right up to the ceiling of the tiny shop, covering the expanse of the walls with its brilliant offer of knowledge. But the shop was a mess and did not look like it would open any time soon. That's a problem.

"Hello?" Hermione called out, stepping inside the closing the door behind her. "Ollivander, are you here?"

A flurry of activities resonated from the back room before a skinny young man with untidy black hair and startling green eyes hidden behind thick glasses appeared from behind the divider. Upon seeing Hermione, he grinned and was about to say something when another tall, lanky red haired young man stumbled out after him. The two was followed by an old man with wide, pale eyes and peppery white hair. After several moments of argument about how squished they were, the three moved away from the register and approached the stunned woman in front of them.

"Hermione, what happened to you?" Harry Potter teased, nudging his glasses.

"Never mind what happened to her," Ron Weasley added. "What happened to her hair? Why is there a brown flesh-eating shrub eating away at her head?"

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione scowled before smiling. "When did you two return? Why didn't you tell me?"

"One question at a time, Hermione." The old Ollivander chuckled.

Hermione looked at Ollivander.

"You knew they were coming," she accused. She turned back to her two friends. "You two didn't tell me."

"Blimey Hermione, get off our cases. We wanted to surprise you."

Hermione glared at the three men for a split second before pulling them all in for a tight hug that had all of them chuckling and laughing just like old times. Three months ago, at the age of twenty and twenty-one respectively, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley made a long journey to Mallengraul to take part in the annual scholarly and military examinations. The difficult and long process of obtaining a Ministry post had them taking part in many exams starting with preliminary local exams and progressing, if successful, through to district, provincial, and palace examinations. Now, after three long months of intensive examinations, they have returned to Moorwich.

"Well?" Hermione asked when the four pulled apart. "What are the results?"

Clearing his voice in an embarrassed but proud manner, Harry gave a short bow to Hermione. Despite the strain of examinations and travels, Harry's green eyes were bright with happiness and there was a blush that faintly covered his thin face. Hermione watched with bated breath, itching to know to news. Even though she was confident Harry and Ron would obtain at least NEWT degrees, she still wanted to hear how it happened. Ron nudged Harry aside, his trademark silly grin stuck on his face. His freckled complexion did nothing to hide the embarrassment he felt, if his ears and red face were any indications.

"Oh out with it, you two!" Ollivander said before busying himself with organizing some of stray books on the other side of the shop. "She waited long enough."

"Miss Hermione Granger," Harry started. "You are currently looking at this year's top ranked scholar of the palace examinations."

"Miss Hermione Granger," Ron continued with a chuckle. "You are now looking at this year'stribute personnel, top ranked military scholar."

Without further ado, Hermione let out a squeal of laughter and launched herself at her two best friends, propriety be damned. As if expecting it, the two young men braced themselves and caught her safely in their arms. They didn't even mind the mud on her dress dirtying their clean silk attires, but only hugged her more tightly than ever as if afraid to let go. Ollivander continued on his task of setting his newly bought books in order, ignoring the familial, intimate exchange between Hermione, Harry, and Ron as if it was an everyday occurrence.

An hour later, Flourish and Blotts were officially open for business. With the help of the trio, Ollivander had finished all the last minute cleaning that was needed and even added some more furnitures and rooms for those customers who want to stay and browse through the store. The additions gave the store a more lively, friendly atmosphere that wouldn't have been possible if left in the hands of the old man. Once finished with their job, Harry, Ron, and Hermione excused themselves for a small break in the back room before Hermione left for the morning.

"So are you going to tell us why you look like a right mess?" Ron asked, absentmindedly adding more sugar to his tea than needed as he looked at Hermione from across the rectangular table. "Parvati and Padma would have never let you leave the estate looking like that. "

"With the Ganymeda Festival coming up soon, there's been an influx of visitors." Hermione scoffed, brushing some dirt from her face but failing miserably. "Let's just say some of the riders are quite aggressive and need to mind their manners on the roadside."

"They splashed mud on you?"

"Not intentionally, no. But..."

Hermione shrugged.

"Anything new since we left Moorwich?"

"There's never anything new here. However," Hermione bit her lip to suppress the smile. "I heard the beautiful Lavender Brown was chosen to be this year's representative in the Ganymeda Festival."

"Lavender Brown?" Harry quirked an eyebrow. "The silly, sentimental girl?"

"Oh hush, Harry. She's a..." Hermione paused, not wanting to make fun of the girl but unable to do so since everything Harry said was on point. "Well, she's a lively girl who just reacts in extreme ways to everyday situations."

"Right," Ron shivered involuntarily. "Lively indeed."

"Might I remind you Ron that you were once quite flattered when you found out about her infatuation with you. Not only that, she called you Won Won. Surely it must have meant something."

"If that's not lively, I don't know what is."

Harry and Hermione laughed at Ron's irritated reaction, not even caring about the scowl on their friend's face.

"Blimey, is she really going to be this year's Ganymeda?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Yes, Ron." Hermione nodded with a roll of her eyes before turning to Harry. "You two wouldn't happen to know if someone important from the capital is coming to Moorwich, would you?"

"Someone from the capital?" Harry asked, frowning upon noticing the nervousness that suddenly took control of the girl. "No, why? What's wrong?"

"Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but I've been noticing a lot of strange things lately." Hermione relayed, lowering her voice. "Several days after you two left for Mallengraul, renovations started in the west wing of the Granger Estate where I live. Then, countless of peddlers started coming in to bombard Lady McGonagall with their wares, some more so than others. Madam Malkin is busy these days making new dress robes and accessories supposedly for the Granger family though neither my mother nor I have any need for them. I know this for a fact. In addition, my father has been requesting my presence almost every morning now. Even Parvati and Padma are suspicious as to why my father would summon me when he usually does not. Either an important official is coming here and he wants me to keep me in check, or something is going on. It doesn't help that there's a bouquet of aster flo-"

"It can't be." Ron nodded to Harry. "If someone of importance is coming to Moorwich, then my father would have told me about it when I returned. Professor Lupin would t-"

"Hang on," Harry interrupted. "If an official from the capital is not coming to Moorwich, but your father is bidding McGonagall to buy wares from peddlers and Madame Malkin to make dresses, are you saying that..."

At this part, Harry stopped talking and stared wide-eyed at the only female in the room. Hermione nodded at Harry's unspoken premise, the worry in her eyes now evident on her face.

"That's exactly what I saying."

"Wow." Harry commented, making Hermione laugh despite her nervousness. "Time flies by so fast."

The ever oblivious Ron looked between Hermione and Harry and raised an eyebrow when they did not notice his confusion.

"I don't understand." He asked. "What are you saying?"

Hermione took a deep breath and sighed, leaning back against the chair in defeat as she looked at her friend with a helpless look on her face. Taking pity on the girl, Harry turned to Ron and began to explain.

"Ron, how old is Ginny?"

"Seventeen, almost eighteen. What does that have to do with Hermione?"

"In our society, what happens when a young woman reaches the age of eighteen?" Hermione asked, exasperatedly trying to get him to catch on but failing miserably.

Ron frowned when he thought of the answer.

"She is suitable for marriage and, with permission from the parents, can welcome suitors who wish to court her."

"And how exactly will we know that she is welcoming suitors?"

"You have to observe the family carefully, of course." Ron replied matter-of-factly. "Usually, a normal family would paste either a dry or fresh aster flower on the door to tell others that they have a marriageable girl in the household. However those who have the power and the money, like Lavender Brown's family, would go all out. Re-decorating the house according to auspicious signs of fortune, buying silks, wares, and produce to give to charity, and many more things that just make my headache whenever I think about it. And the family would usually buy new robes and dresses for the said girl to wear. It's tradition."

Exchanging glances, Hermione and Harry heaved a great sigh in exasperation at their friend's lack of intellectual acuity.

"Ron," Hermione leaned forward and looked at her friend carefully, distractedly clenching her hands into fists under the table. Her hesitance, if her worrying her bottom lip was any indication, stemmed from more than just a concern about whether her friend would react favorably or negatively to her news. No, it was more than that. Glancing at Harry, she pleaded for help but when he nodded his head, the look he gave her gave her the confidence she needed. Focusing back to Ron, Hermione took a deep breath. "While you were gone, my father started to ask me about who I want to marry."

Ron Weasley quickly got up from his seat, pushing his chair back so much that it fell on the ground with a loud slam, startling his two companions. Now sitting on the edge of his seat, Harry gripped the arms of the chair and watched the face-to-face staring contest between Ron and Hermione. Knowing Ron as well as he did, the red blush that now covered his face indicated how angry he was at receiving the news of Hermione receiving suitors. It didn't help that the hands gripping the edge of the table were quivering in suppressed anger.

"Now Ron," Harry started, standing up. "Lord Gra-"

"Just when were you going to tell me, Hermione?" Ron shouted, slamming a hand on the table. The tea cups and plates rattled at the force. "I leave for three months and you're welcoming in suitors now?"

"Ron," Hermione got up from her seat, her anger now starting to take over as she narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her. "My father is the one who deci-"

"What did you tell him? That pansy McLaggen? He may see you as a beautiful young woman but he knows nothing about your personality. You're a nightmare and you know it." Running his blue eyes up and down to inspect Hermione's body, Ron turned away from her in disgust. "As if anyone would want to marry a headstrong, petty, sycophantic girl like you."

"Watch what you're saying, man!" Harry intercepted.

"**You-complete-arse-Ronald-Weasley**!" Hermione moved to get closer to Ron but Harry's hand taking her own made her stop. "Welcoming suitors is a family affair. It's not by my own personal choice. I didn't even know about it until your mother asked me about it."

"Since when did the great Hermione Granger, brightest girl of our age, not know anything about coming of age rites? You're Hermione Granger!"

"**And you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet**." Hermione retorted back.

Ron glared at Hermione, his eyes narrowed in a calculating but contemplative manner. As his blue eyes fell on to the sight of Harry holding tightly onto Hermione's hand, the intimate gesture both comforting her and calming her, his nostrils flared. The anger that radiated off him came in waves, making his bright red hair fuzzy and face crimson with the blood gathering all over his face. Opening and closing his eyes to curve the anger that suddenly took over him, Ronald Weasley nodded his head.

"I see how it is," he said finally.

"See what?" Hermione asked vehemently.

Ron's eyes fell to his friends' intertwined hands and quickly looked away as if the sight pained him. Following his gaze, Hermione and Harry looked down at their hands and abruptly pulled away, embarrassed at the insinuation. Gently pushing Harry aside, Hermione slowly approached the red hair and reached out her hand to touch him but he violently pulled his arm away before she could.

"Ron, it's not what you think." Hermione said.

Ron glanced at his two best friends, pausing to gaze at Hermione for a tad bit longer, before turning around and storming out of the back room.

"Ron!"

"Ron!"

**| o | o | o |**

Draco Malfoy gazed at the blaring sunny sky. According to the gossip he has been hearing, this was the first time Moorwich had received so much sunlight. Apparently these past few weeks, the city was heavily pelted with thunderstorms, which explained the torrents of rain he had to tread through on his way to the city. But despite the beautiful day, the focus of twenty-year-old man was nowhere near sunshine and daisies. No, he came to Moorwich with one goal and one goal only and in a couple of minutes, he would find out whether or not the excursion was worth his while.

Footsteps approached.

Turning around at the sound, Draco first noticed not his attendant Vincent, but the female next to help with her eyes lowered in a form of deep respect. Adorning a beautiful and elaborate silk dress with chrysanthemum flowers gracing the fabric, the young woman seemed comely enough. But something was off in the way she carried herself, a nervousness that rendered her body stiff, and Draco narrowed his eyes. From her demeanor alone, he knew he had wasted time coming to Moorwich. However, he would entertain her anyway.

"Sir," said Vincent. "This is Miss Cecilia, the lady that has been referred by Commissioner Brown."

"Have a seat."

Draco gestured towards the countless tables and chairs in front of him, but ultimately sat down in the seat nearest the balcony overlooking the markets outside. He had chosen such a location because even though it was a private affair of the royal family, he had entered the walls of Moorwich under the pretense of an officer supposedly working under the direct orders of Draco Malfoy. For the last four years after the assignment of his task, that was his identity and he would be damned if someone figured out who he really was.

It made his job easier if people thought they were not actually dealing with Draco Malfoy, the twenty-year-old Commanding Officer of the Tribunal, then a minion of the said man. That aside, sitting at the third floor balcony of a restaurant famous for their divine delicacies, looking around the market place, and watching people do mundane, everyday things was simply interesting within itself. Even if he had to intermingle with mudbloods and half bloods.

The sounds of footsteps once again snapped Draco out of his daze and he watched as Miss Cecilia, a pretty little thing, greet him with a delicate, formal curtsy before taking a seat right in front of Draco on the other side of the table. Vincent made his way across and room and settled behind his master, watching everything but not speaking a word. Draco studied Cecilia for only a split second, his face devoid of emotions, and cleared his throat.

"Will you not offer me some tea?" He inquired.

"Of course, Sir."

Cecilia offered Draco a kind smile and proceeded to prepare the tea. As always and with intention, he watched her work on the mixing of the boiling water and the tea powder that had been provided. There was no indication of distaste as the unmistakable aroma filled the air and even further, there was no reaction when she poured the tea; one for him and one for her.

"Princess Emmaline was always fond of tea," said Draco. He took a sip and smiled. "I can see you are skilled in the arts of tea decorum."

"You flatter me, Sir." Cecilia giggled.

"Drink." Obliging his request, Cecilia took a sip of the hot tea and savored its taste. "How is it?"

Cecilia sipped the tea again, then set the cup down.

"It has a powerful, unique, but unmistakable aroma. The flavor is both sweet and acrid, and it is very pleasant for the tongue. The use of almond tea in our meeting is very unusual."

He nodded.

"Yes, of course. But let's not speak of pleasantries any longer. I trust you understand the basis of why you're here and who I am."

"Commissioner Brown has mentioned that you are an officer at the State Tribunal and has been cooperating with Lord Malfoy to find Her Royal Highness." Cecilia smiled. "However, I am quite sure that there no longer is any need to search the country for her because I am Princess Emmaline. Forgive my audacity but I must be frank about my identity."

"Oh?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Please continue."

Encouraged by Draco's urging, the young miss did just that.

"It has been long since the attack at the Summer Palace twelve years prior, but I still have dreams about it. I-"

"It is rather unfortunate, Miss Cecilia, that I won't be able to continue our conversation." Draco set his cup back onto the table and looked at the young woman opposite him with pale, condescending grey eyes. "Very unfortunate indeed that unlike your suggestion, I believe I still have to extend my search further for Her Royal Highness."

"Sir?"

"Vincent," commanded Draco. He glanced at the servant as he stepped forward and turned to the young woman. "Execute her."

"E-Execute?" Cecilia asked again. Her voice betrayed the calm facade she was carrying. "Sir, you haven't even questioned me yet. How can you give that order?"

"There's no need for such trivialities." Draco stood up, looking down at Cecilia with contempt in his eyes. "You claim that you are Emmaline Duval, Her Royal Highness, the King's blood sister, correct?"

"Yes, and I have the artifact to prove it. If onl-"

"Forgive me if I find your claim unconvincing because as I have heard it, Her Royal Highness has an adverse reaction to almonds. But as you see, you are fine and very lovely indeed. That establishes my point exactly."

Cecilia looked bewilderedly at the tea set in front of her and gasped.

"I-Yo-You do not have the authority to execute me! You're just an officer. I want to speak to Lord Malfoy. Get me Lor-"

"This conversation is over." Draco turned to his servant. "What are you waiting for? Undermining the State Tribunal and attempting to corrupt the government is perverse and disgusting. I will not allow it in my court. Take her to the office of the Prefecture Governor and have her punished for the treason she has committed."

"Yes, Lord Malfoy."

Upon finding out the truth about Draco's identity, the delicate Miss Cecilia shrieked with rage for about three minutes, shouting and arguing about her true identity as the princess. As if expecting such behaviors, Vincent didn't even pause before he escorted the woman away from his master's sight. After all, the both of them had witnessed many different reactions from people since they started their task four years ago. Chuckling about his own foolishness and the uselessness of his trip to Moorwich, Draco returned to his seat and finished the cup of almond tea Miss Cecilia had poured for him.

Fifteen minutes after Vincent departed with Cecilia in tow, Draco Malfoy left the vicinity of the restaurant to visit the market place. When he was first kicked out from Malfoy Manor to start the impossible task of searching for the missing heir, his young sixteen-year-old self couldn't get used to having only one servant attending to all his needs. Admittedly, he also couldn't get used to the raucous market places like Moorwich's because the noises tended to go on forever regardless of the time.

However, the nomadic life both Draco and Vincent were forced to live after receiving their task had broken them in. Before, he hated to venture to the marketplace because he found himself too noble and pure to be tainted by such atrocities. Now, he no longer cared that such establishments or places were filled with laboring mudbloods and mercenary half-bloods. After all, they do have their uses.

And indeed, the uncultured atmosphere of Moorwich's market place was very rowdy and filled with such people. Products flew across in a system of trades between mongers and customers simply pushed back and forth to get the best fish, the juiciest meat, and the freshest spices. Of course these products were reserved for the richer, noblemen. Those who could not afford it, as Draco saw, bought only vegetables.

"Come get fresh bread!"

"The season's best mackerels are here! Only three coins!"

"Get your umbrella for the rainy weather. Get your umbrella!"

"Sir! Sir!"

At the sound of the familiar voice, Draco turned around and immediately found his pudgy servant rushing towards him from the other side of the road. Once the man caught up, panting ike a wet dog, Draco turned around and proceeded to continue strolling through the market place.

"Well?" He asked.

"Sir," reported Vincent. "Miss Cecilia has been turned to the office of the Prefecture Governor just like instructed."

"I shall trust that the Governor execute her soon and without hesitation." Something from the corner of his eyes sparked Draco's interest and he turned his head towards a shop to his right. But there was nothing there other than a few barrels and the shopkeeper. Thinking that it was only a trick of the eye, he turned back to his attendant and continued their conversation. "Now that we've finally cleared another impersonator of Emma's, we must return to Mallengraul."

"So soon?"

Draco frowned at the question.

"What do you mean so soon?"

"You usually stay behind for a few days before leaving a city."

"We don't have time for dilly-dallying this time around. I must return to prepare for Engynia's visitation this winter. The King himself had requested it."

Not pausing even once as he continued to talk to his attendant, Draco subtly scanned his surroundings looking for anyone and everyone who looked familiar, suspicious, or even remotely strange. Someone was watching his every move closely and it doesn't bode well with him. What had set it off?

Was it their luxurious attires, the superiority of their horses, or the manner in which they spent their galleons? Based on Draco's experiences in the last four years, he knew most of the danger they attracted were either people extracting revenge for executing liars and impostors, or greedy people who wanted to rob their money. But which was it?

"Vincent," called Draco.

"Yes, Sir."

"Go buy some supplies for our journey and come back here with the horses."

"Yes, Sir." Vincent sighed in relief and turned to walk away but stopped himself. He turned back. "Sir, where will you be?"

"Leave," Draco growled.

Flinching, Vincent rushed away from his master's side after a curt nod of acknowledgment. As the attendant disappeared into the market lanes, Draco swiveled around and walked deeper into the market place. He had half a mind to enter one of the shops but decided against it when he confirmed that indeed, someone was following him. No matter how many turns Draco took or how slow or fast he walked, a man wearing a big straw hat was behind him every step of the way. But why? As he turned a corner, Draco started into a long sprint and was immediately swallowed up by oncoming merchants exploring Moorwich's markets.

His pursuer turned into the same corner Draco had taken but when he found no one resembling his target in any way, he cursed and continued down the market lane in search of the said man. Draco, hiding behind a man selling fruit as his pursuer passed him, caught a brief glimpse at his chaser but could not recognize the man or identify him due to the straw hat he adorned.

The man couldn't possibly be someone who wanted revenge from Draco Malfoy since he had already accounted at least one revenge plan for every girl he executed. If the man did want vengeance, he was several years too late. Then again, Draco couldn't just brush off that possibility. However, the possibility of that man wanting money was high up there. Draco wanted to capture the man then and there, but what if the man was ordered to kill him? He neither had a sword or a back up. No, he had to do this carefully. As if sensing eyes on him, the pursuer turned his head and Draco quickly dodged and entered a shop behind him to avoid being seen.

But evidently he had not been looking because immediately as he opened the door to the shop, he collided into another person as they were walking out. The collision sent the both of them sprawling on the ground, the sound of their groans catching the attention of all those who passed them. Wary of having blown his cover, Draco slowly got up from the ground, subtly scanning the crowd for his pursuer. The suspicious man was still there, watching Draco's every move behind his straw hat.

"I'm sorry, sir."

The voice that spoke-unfamiliar and yet so sharp-snapped Draco out of the reverie that had been induced by his unknown pursuer. He tore his eyes from the man and and focused it upon the source of the voice. A plebeian woman dressed in clothes tarnished with blots of soil was slowly raising from the ground where she had fallen from their collision, humbly bowing to Draco in apology.

Not only were her clothes unseemly, stains of dried dirt on her face imparted a position of interior status and the very image of her brought Draco a sense of distaste. What kind of lady would dress in such an indecent way? But then again she was just a commoner, a mudblood. She was not a proper lady in any sense of the word.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Someone from inside the store inquired.

So the girl's name was Hermione. Draco scoffed. A beautiful name has been wasted upon a displeasing, ugly person. It reminded him of a lovely flower being dropped into a pile of feces- clearly atrocious. From the corner of his eyes, Draco could see his pursuer slowly blending into the crowd and disappearing. He had noticed that Draco now knew of his presence and obviously needed to get away. But where was he going? What did he want in the first place? Was he going back to report to his superior? Draco made a move to follow the man, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Sir, your hand." The young woman said.

"Let go," Draco growled. Pulling his arm away from her grip, he turned back to look at the crowd passing but his pursuer was gone without even a shadow in sight. Furious at having lost his sole opportunity, Draco turned back to Hermione and glared at her. "You fool! Do you realize what you've done?"

"Sir, I was simply asking to make sure you're alright." Hermione replied indignantly. "Your hand is bleeding."

"No thanks to you, I'm sure." Draco scowled. Grabbing his handkerchief from inside his robes, he quickly wiped the blood off his hands and threw it in the plebeian girl's face. Surprised at the action, she fumbled to catch the handkerchief. "Watch where you're going next time, wench. Now get out of-"

"What did you say?" The girl's eyes widened at the insult and Draco quirked an eyebrow at the reaction, watching her carefully as she looked at the handkerchief and then at him. The look of disbelief in her eyes almost made him laugh. But as quickly as the anger slipped into her eyes, it disappeared to be replaced by nothing more than disgust. "How ignorant you are."

Throwing down the handkerchief, Hermione took one glance back at Draco before taking one step aside and walking past him as if their encounter had not happened the way it did. Who did that woman think she was, walking away from a conversation with Draco Malfoy without letting him get out the last words? She clearly did not know who he was. If she did, she would understood that she was beneath him and should show him the respect deemed by his status.

"Hermione, who's that man?" A familiar voice asked behind him.

"Just a bigoted fool," the woman replied. "Come on, Harry. We have to find Ron."

Snapping out of his daze, Draco swiveled around and watched as the mudblood Hermione interact with a man with dark raven black hair. It couldn't be... When the man turned to look at him, Draco's eyes widened at the familiar black hair, ghastly round glasses, and lightning bolt scar on the man's forehead.

"Potter?"

"Malfoy?" Unable to believe what was in front of him, Harry Potter took off his glasses, cleaned it, and then put it back on to stupidly squint at Draco. "What are you doing here?"

Draco scoffed.

"Is Moorwich yours alone? I think not."

"Moorwich isn't that popular with the Ministry or imperial officials." Harry's body suddenly tensed up and he cautiously took a step forward to shield the woman behind him. Draco laughed at the gesture. As if his puny body could save the girl if Draco truly wanted to harm her. "You're here because of your task."

"Don't get your dirty knickers in a knot, Potter." Draco glanced between the two. "We all know that servant of yours has no potential to be the Princess. You don't need to hide her and her disgraceful form from me."

"Don't you worry," said the woman. "I would never want to be the King's precious, little Princess."

"You silly girl," commented Draco with a chuckle, quirking an eyebrow at her response. "You can have everything you want-riches and gold, diplomatics ties and influence, and the power to change your blood status-and you don't want it?"

"Listen to yourself. You're trying to justify the King's actions through what exactly?" The commoner did not turn her gaze towards him as she spoke and it irritated Draco. She was mocking him! "Because of the King's unintelligent jurisdiction of publicly announcing his search for her, he had casted the poor child into a dangerous forest without a way to defend herself from the gnarling pack of wolves. If she is alive, Emmaline Duval would be a fool to not hold an any contempt against the court. Any justification for the King's lack of knowledge is simply inadequate."

Draco almost laughed at the girl's reply. For someone who looked like dirty blood, she definitely knew her politics. In the last four years, he had often asked himself this same question. Knowing that there were many factions who wanted to get rid of the royal family, why had the King publicly announced a search for the missing princess? And why oh why did he specifically gave the arduous task to Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and a rumored Death Eater? Had he had wanted the princess alive, he should have searched for her stealthily. So what was he trying to achieve through this public search?

"Emmaline Duval is not in danger." Draco replied to the girl. "She does not need protection."

"Not even from Tom Riddle?"

Both Draco and Harry gasped at the utterance of that name.

"Hermione!"

"How dare you speak his name!"

"**Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself**," Hermione replied calmly.

Irked, Draco spat on the ground in front of the girl and growled out:

"**No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood**!"

"Watch your tone, Lord Malfoy." Harry lashed out. "That term should not be used in normal, everyday conversations."

"Politics are hardly normal, everyday conversations." Draco's focus turned to the ever opinionated Hermione. As if feeling his eyes on her, she turned and stared back at him. The dark brown beads of her eyes angrily bore into his, but there was a sense of distance he couldn't quite place. Was she looking at him or at something else?" What dissatisfaction do you have against the King?"

"None of which that would classify as treason, Lord Malfoy."

"Then?"

"Everyone knows that the King is a puppet of Tom Riddle's." Draco narrowed his eyes. "The citizens don't care that the King will re-united with his lost sister. They don't care that there will be no heir to the throne should he not find her. All they want is for someone to smile and wave at them. The King is there to make them feel better. In the end, he's just a mannequin like every other king before him. Why would you want to drag an innocent woman into that power struggle?"

"Aris needs an heir," said Draco.

"Then the King needs to grow some balls." She retorted back.

Draco's eyes widened at the audacity of the chit. Did she just tell the King to grow some?

"You ins-" Draco started.

"Hermione," Harry interrupted. "It's almost noon. You need to go."

The woman turned to her companion, completely ignoring the outraged blond in front of her, and frowned.

"Ron?"

"I'll find him. Go."

"Alright."

Without even a glance back at Draco, Hermione curtsied and was swept away by the oncoming crowd. Judging from her appearance, her outspoken character, and her lack of propriety, she was no doubt a mudblood. But why was she so opinionated about the search for Emmaline Duval? Did she know anything about it? But then again, she was Harry Potter's personal mudblood. Obviously, she would know some things about politics just like her master.

"Fraternizing with mudbloods now, are we?" Draco said as he stepped forward to stand beside Potter, occupying the place where the girl had been.

"Malfoy," warned Potter.

"She is smart then?" Draco asked, cocking his head in the direction of where the servant girl had left. "That Hermione."

"Brightest girl in Moorwich."

"Even though she's a mudblood?"

Harry frowned at the question, but slowly nodded.

"For a muggle-born, yes. Did you find someone here?"

Draco scowled at the change of topics. Just as Potter didn't want to discuss his mudblood, he also didn't want to talk about his task.

"No one but an impostor."

"Pity."

"Indeed." Draco quickly re-adjusted his luxurious silk attire and cleared his throat. "I hope I won't see you again."

"Let's just hope so." Harry chuckled. "Good bye, Lord Malfoy."

"Adieu, Lord Potter."

With a curt nod, Draco turned and walked away from Harry Potter and that odd Flourish and Blotts shop behind him. He disappeared into the crowd just as easily as he had been uncovered while trying to hide from his mysterious pursuer.

Two months ago, Draco Malfoy had met Harry Potter for the first time in the annual scholarly and military examinations back at Mallengraul. He had been there acting as a North faction judge in the examinations alongside some of the West, East, and South faction official members and had questioned the man on many subjects such as arithmancy, ancient runes, herbology, history, potions, and various others.

Although the man was admittedly learned in some subjects, Draco felt that he was not good enough to have obtained Outstandings on all his NEWTS. Had it not been for James Potter's sacrifice to protect the late King during the Death Eater Rebellion twelve years ago, Harry Potter would have never been appointed the top ranked scholar at this year's palace examinations. Even though the two were civil with one another, they were anything but friendly. To have met up with Potter in Moorwich when he thought he would never see the damn bastard again was probably Draco's curse.

Draco Malfoy stopped walking.

Right in front of him in broad daylight was the man in the straw hat and from the looks of it, he was chatting quite amicably with one mudblood Hermione. Was he mistaken? Had the man wanted to speak to Hermione all along and Draco was just in the way? Come to think of it, although there were many intersecting alleyways on High Street, the road he had taken to escape his pursuer was the shortest distance to the bookstore.

He narrowed his eyes when he recognized the subtle glances Hermione was making trying to make sure no one saw her talking to the man. As soon as her brown eyes met his across the street, she abruptly turned back to her companion, grabbed his arm, and quickly began to lead him away from Draco. No, he was not mistaken. She knew something and she knew his pursuer.

Potter's mudblood was definitely not just a mudblood.

**| o | o | o |**

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Sharp drum beats and cittern strums smashed together to immediately set the tone and as the speeding drums and drawing violent strings came together, music resonated. The young woman strutted down the dangerous polished wooden floor, a hand on her hip and a smirk on her face as she flaunted her assets to the mirrors walls running along around her.

As the harmonious sound of music picked up speed, the adrenaline hurried in, filling her body with strength and grace unseen before. She moved to the music and danced flamboyantly, jumping up at points when the music ran high and returning to the floor as it slowed. The soles of her feet touched the ground soundlessly each time she made a descent.

She danced, flipping and jumping around the open space to pour her feelings into the impersonation that she was. Each song and each beat had a story and she was simply impersonating one of the characters in the endless possibilities of stories. She danced for the faceless man who aspired to be worthy of a face. She danced for the woman that had an innocent flare everyone admired but didn't really care about. She danced for the child who broke inside each time she heard the shouts and excuses of the adults.

With a purposely choreographed fall, all the personalities she had depicted through her body movements and artful flairs smacked right into one another. The background music lost its velocity and she in turn lost her momentum, moving through the floor with a slow pace to settle the confusion within her choreography. The music snapped back into action a few seconds later and she reacted to the whirling strings of harmony with her own portrayal of the faceless, innocent, broken person her choreography had merged together. All her movements were forceful and aggressive with hands pulling and then pushing and legs twirling and then turning. But hidden within those actions was a sort of calm spoken not through her body language but through the way she ended each movement with a spark of composure.

Just before the music came to its abrupt end, she raised her graceful legs up into the air and jumped. The momentum of her landing caused her body to slide across the wooden floorboard on her knees and she would have crashed into the wall face first had she not stopped the force by putting her hands behind her back. The song ended. She was definitely a sight to behold, kneeling there on her knees with her lean torso almost laying horizontally on the floor in the most flexible way.

The only things that kept her slightly above the wooden floor were her hands, stretched back to support her body. Despite the awkward position of her body, her eyes were closed and her chest was heaving as she gathered her strength and her breath after her hard, strenuous exercise. After what seemed like several minutes, she pushed herself up into an upright position and opened her eyes.

Hermione Granger stared at her own reflection in the mirror. Tendrils of dark brown hair were sticking out from the plait she had behind her back and beads of sweat slipped down her face like she had been crying after the dancing exercise proved to be too much work. She didn't do it often but when she did, such exercise often resulted to a sweaty body, aching muscles, and a lot of reprimanding from the governess. Speaking of the governess...

With a quick glance at the mirror, she quickly caught the sight of her governess entering the room reflecting from the mirror walls. Secretly rolling her eyes at the imminent confrontation, Hermione turned her body around and looked up at the rather severe-looking middle-aged woman as she approached. Parvati and Padma, who were playing the cittern and drums respectively, scuttled to attention at the stern look on the governess's face.

"Lady McGonagall," the young woman greeted. "Good morning."

Minerva McGonagall, Hermione's governess and nurse, gave her a curt nod in return.

"Miss Hermione," said the governess sternly. "Do you not wish to visit Lord Potter and Professor Lupin today?"

"Of course I do, madam." Hermione pushed herself off the floor and gently brushed the dirt off the lace on her dress. "Have they arrived?"

The governor's eyes ran up and down Hermione's body and shook her head in disapproval. The girl's brown hair was sticking all over the place, her dress was stained here and there with filth and dust, and the material was too thin for the public.

"No but I suggest you make haste. And for Merlin's sake child, tame your hair."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the disheveled peppery brown hair on the governess's face and broke out laughing at the utter contradiction of the woman's words. Almost immediately, her two attendants Parvati and and Padma joined in from the far corner of the room. Frowning, the governess opened her mouth to reprimand the three but her voice was drowned out when Hermione surprisingly gave her a hug.

"Oh my lovely Minerva," said Hermione. "Before you formally rebuke me, you should check your own appearance."

Tucking a stray strand behind the old woman's right ear, Hermione gave a quick curtsy, grabbed the skirts of her dress, and rushed away from the governess before she exploded with anger.

"Child, I did not give you permission to call me Mi-"

"I bade you to bath with me, Minerva!" Hermione called at the threshold of the door. Parvati and Padma giggled at her side. "I miss the time we spent together."

Frazzled but not entirely angry at the audacity of the young child, Minerva muttered some curses under her breath and quickly ushered the three young girls out and down the hallway. As soon as they reached the corner, the two attendants excused themselves to go get the bath ready before leaving the ever stern governess alone with her charge. A comfortable silence reigned the atmosphere as Hermione and Minerva walked on, their footsteps moving in perfect unison.

"Forgive me for asking, Lady McGonagall, but why do you not approve of me dancing?"

The elder woman looked rather surprised at the question and glanced at her young companion.

"Do not get me wrong, Hermione. The art of dancing is a fantastic hobby. However, the style you have chosen to replicate is bordering on lewd, if not obscene. It is not proper for a young, noble woman like yourself to learn such behaviors."

"It is also not proper for a young lady to duel, but you did not refuse when Professor Lupin offered to teach me." Hermione cocked her head to the side. "What say you to that, governess?"

Minerva pursed her lips.

"I stand my ground on the subject as I did many years ago."

"And that is?"

"That, Hermione, is between your father and I."

Whatever Hermione wanted to say to her governess was put on halt when Parvati and Padma returned and hurried the two along lest the bath water go cold in their absence. The twins, having served Hermione for as long as she could remember, did not disappoint the mistress with their preparation work. As soon as Hermione and Minerva entered the bath house, steam enveloped them in welcoming mists of apples and bergamot.

Despite having invited the governess for a bath, Hermione, Parvati, and Padma all knew it was in suggestion only and did not push the governess when she refused the offer several times in succession. As such, Parvati and Padma only served their mistress when the time came for them to do their job of cleansing, massaging, and helping Hermione clean herself up. Minerva simply stood on the sidelines, offering light conversations with Hermione and suggestions to the two attendants.

An hour later, Hermione stepped out of the bath water fully cleansed and completely free of grit, dirt, or otherwise. Never having stray away from their mistress for long, one twin hurriedly put a robe over the young woman's nubile shoulder as the other twin began to dry her body and hair. Minerva gently pulled out a snow white crepe gown with threaded ice blue lining from the pile of clothes the twins had chosen for their mistress and offered it to them when Hermione was ready to dress. As the twins gently laced up the gown, Hermione opened her eyes and glanced at their reflection in the fogged up mirror in front of her, smiling at her companions.

"What are you smiling about, Hermione?" Parvati asked when she caught her eye.

"You and Padma," Hermione replied. "You two are of marriageable age, are you not?"

"Not any more so than you," Padma teased, pulling on the strings of the gown a bit tighter than Hermione would have liked.

"Hey! I'm sorry, I'll try not to mention it to mother."

The young girl laughed at the expressions on the twins' faces.

"You better not, Hermione." Minerva said from her spot by the dresser. "Your mother would have them ship off to Merlin knows where to find husbands and you'll have no one to look after you."

"Oh how tragic. Is Professor Lupin here yet?"

"Yes, he arrived ten minutes earlier." Minerva replied with a laugh. "Lady Granger is currently feeding him afternoon tea and biscuits."

Hermione groaned at the image as the twins giggled.

"Let us leave then," she said. "I would hate for the Professor to kill me before I'm fated to die."

After a few more minutes, Parvati and Padma finally finished adding final adjustments to Hermione's attire and let her go greet her guest while the governess returned to her knitting. Unlocking the door to the bathhouse, Hermione started to make her way towards the drawing room of the Granger Estate. The lush green trees and beautiful flowers decorating the wallpapers had once provided the hallways with a happy, lively atmosphere. But it could no longer prevent the cold and barren darkness that came with the silence from seeping through.

When she arrived at the door leading to the drawing room, Hermione took a deep breath, gathered her senses, and walked inside. Her nose crinkled at the overwhelming smell of tea and sweets flying through the air and suddenly sneezed, as she always did when her mother decided to host a tea party. Hermione advanced further into the room towards the sunken level of the chamber, her brown eyes taking in the presence of the furniture and the two who occupied them.

Helena Granger, an intelligent lady with round, chocolate brown eyes and fine, straight hair was sitting on the daybed watching her daughter approach with a smile on her face. Her companion, Professor Remus Lupin, rubbed his thin mustache and chuckled when the young lady approaching sneezed again, the scars cutting across his face making tracks upon his pale white skin. When she was in front of them, the professor stood up to his full height and acknowledged her with a quick nod of his head. She in turn gave a small curtsy.

"Good morning, Professor Lupin." Hermione greeted. She bowed her head to Helena. "Mother."

"You weren't troubling the governess again were you, my dear?" Helena asked, sipping what appeared to be white tea.

"Lady Granger, your daughter is always pleasant with everyone." The professor replied, throwing a subtle wink at Hermione for the jest. "I cannot imagine her troubling the governess at all."

"Ah but she's a sly one."

"Mother!" Hermione complained.

The two elders laughed at Hermione's expense.

"Alright, Professor." Helena stood up from her seat and nodded to her daughter and guest. "I suppose you two can leave now. Knowing how impatient my daughter is to learn more about the subtle arts of potion making, she'll throw a fit if I delay her any longer with mindless pleasantries."

Hermione gave her mother a quick but tight hug that made the older woman flush with embarrassment before turning around and walking out of the drawing room, the professor following right behind her after exchanging quick good byes with the lady of the estate.

**| o | o | o |**

"Harry." She exclaimed.

His bright green eyes were wide open, as if surprised that she had caught him in the first place. In truth, it was she who was surprised. What was he doing? As far as she knew, the owner of Godric's Hollow was supposed to be at the Prefecture Governor's office getting his robes fitted for his civil service post. He was not supposed to be home, at least not this early. Harry Potter heaved in air. Each breath caused his chest to rise and fall in unison with his breathing and his new official's attire to shimmer from the material of the fabric.

"H-H-Hermione," Harry said with a terrible stutter. "H-Hi."

Hermione immediately reached out to hug her best friend but the feel of cold metal brushing against the back of her neck stopped her. There was only one person who could have done that. Hermione glanced at the sudden glint of amusement in Harry's eyes and understood. She had been fooled by Harry's innocent act. Without taking any other chances, Hermione shifted to the left and kicked the person behind her. Her leg was stopped in mid-air just as a sword hit the floor with a loud clank.

"Hermione," Remus Lupin cocked his head to the side, gripping her leg hard.

Hermione mustered her strength and delivered a front kick with her right leg at the professor's head before performing a back flip to escape from the man's grasp. But regardless of how fast she was, as soon as she landed on her feet, a fist slammed into her stomach. What followed were a succession of parries and blows being thrown left and right with no time in between. With the swiftness of the hits and the impacts of the blows, it was hard to mark a beginning, middle, and end of the whole fiasco. But the goal was obvious.

Remus was continuously attacking Hermione by delivering lethal blows with his strong fists and Hermione was trying her best to defend herself and inflict some serious damage as well. It was evident by the way they skilfully blocked each other's parries and viciously attacked each other that they were equally matched both in offense and defense tactics. They were, however, not at all resourceful. There was a sword right there on the floor and some hanging on the walls, but neither of them had the sense to use them to gain an advantage.

Standing on the sidelines, Harry Potter watched the match with interest. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought Hermione and the professor were fighting for their lives given the harsh blows and kicks. But he did know better and he watched their fight with amusement, waiting for that perfect moment to interfere. A sound of distinct pain snapped Harry back to attention and he returned his focus to the professor as he ruthlessly gave Hermione a hard kick to the ribs followed by a ringing smack to her neck. Hermione collapsed to her knees at the double impact.

"Hermione!"

Quickly grabbing the sword on the floor by his feet, Harry charged at the professor, adamant in saving his best friend. But as if he was expecting his attack, the professor swiveled around, ducked at the sword swinging across the air, and swiped what felt like a steel leg across the floor. Harry fell backwards in a heap, his balance broken, and cursed when he let go of the sword in his hands. Seconds later, he screamed and scrambled out of the way as the gleaming, sharp blade began its descent.

The professor promptly grabbed the sword in mid-air and attempted to stab Harry with the blade, but his plan was foiled when Hermione parried the blow with another sword. Glancing at the wall down the hall, Harry secretly nodded his head in approval. She had definitely grabbed a sword from the wall. The professor narrowly escape the path of Hermione's blade and grunted when she attacked him, the force of her blade making him take a few steps back. Scrambling to his feet, Harry caught the sword Hermione threw at him as she fought the professor and smiled at the feel of the blade in his hands.

"Harry!" Hermione growled out impatiently.

Harry immediately joined her on the makeshift battle field.

"Playing dirty, are we?" Remus asked as the fair one-on-one fight suddenly morphed into a two-on-one fight with Harry and Hermione aggressively attacking him. "Whatever shall I do with you two?"

Remus faltered a bit when Harry and Hermione simultaneously attacked him with their swords, but quickly remedied the situation by assaulting the weakest link.

"The same thing you always do," Harry groaned unattractively.

"Ha! That's rich, coming from a weakling like you." Remus chuckled. "The last several times you could defeat me was with Ron and Hermione's help. Ron's not here right now and the chit is terrible."

"Hey!" Hermione retaliated with a harsh blow to Remus' side before ducking and smacking him in the face with her foot. "I'm right here you know."

"I heard Draco Malfoy is in Moorwich." Remus commented, glancing at Hermione to gauge her reaction.

"You heard correctly," Hermione replied curtly.

Recognizing the momentary shift in Hermione's demeanor, Remus mustered all his strength and began attacking the two more aggressively than ever before. While Hermione could keep up with the blows and parried quickly enough, Harry was not up to speed and quickly backed away from the fight before he was injured.

"What, are you mad that he's looking for Emmaline Duval?" Remus taunted, his breaths now coming in pants.

"Why would I be mad about that?" Hermione replied.

She side stepped and narrowly escaped before Remus' blade put a dent on the wall she had been leaning against.

"She's alive."

Gripping tightly to her sword, Hermione adjusted her stance mid-battle, lowered her defenses, and waited for the professor to attack her like he always did. He didn't see her trickery until his sword began its descent and even though he tried to abort his plans of directly attacking seconds before he could hurt her, Hermione quickly but efficiently knocked Remus off his feet with a single blow to his head using the blunt side of her sword and her powerful legs. Before Remus even realized what was happening, a sword was pressed to his neck.

"He's not going to find her." Hermione replied adamantly. "Emmaline Duval is dead."

"Is she really?" Remus asked quietly.

His brown eyes darted to the sword drawing blood from his neck and then at the woman towering over him. Lowering her eyes in shame, Hermione withdrew the sword and threw it on the floor next to Remus. Even though she was the one who came out victorious in the end, the young woman seemed to have lost. Harry, no longer hearing steel hitting steel, returned to the hallway from the drawing room and exclaimed in happiness at seeing Remus on the ground. He immediately rushed to Hermione and hugged her.

"Congratulations, Hermione!" Harry shouted. "You did it. You defeated Professor Lupin! I knew you could do it."

"Thanks Harry. I couldn't do it without you." Hermione said, winking at Harry when he mumbled something about him being useless. Pulling away from her friend, she turned to look at the professor and slowly nodded her head. "Professor."

"Take that, professor!" Harry grabbed the professor's arm and pulled him up, the smile on his face a complete change now that they were no longer fighting.

"To think Lady Granger believes her daughter is only interested in the subtle art of potions making." Remus commented, chuckling as he brushed invisible lint off his attire. "I didn't injure you two, did I?"

"No, you only injured my pride." Harry rolled his eyes. "And you, Hermione. When did you get so strong?"

"When you were off taking that ridiculous exam they won't allow me to take." Hermione complained.

"Come," Remus urged them into the drawing room. "Let's talk about this with some tea."

"Ugh, tea." Hermione and Harry groaned in unison.

Remus ignored the two kids and sat down on the armchair.

"Only you like Lady Granger's tea, Remus." Harry teased, sitting down next to Hermione on the daybed. "How long were you guys training before I returned?"

"A couple of hours," Hermione replied nonchalantly.

"A couple of hours? Th-That is-"

"Pure dedication." Remus finished for Harry. "What did you expect, Harry? She had to vent her anger somehow. Here, tea."

"Anger?" Hermione scoffed but kindly accepted the cup of tea from Remus. "Right now, the government is desperately in need of officials who can actually do the work and they won't let me take it because I'm a woman? That's just ridiculous."

"I told you to disguise yourself as me and go take it, Hermione. I offered you my identity badge, didn't I?"

"And what, may I ask, would you have used, Harry? There can't possibly be two Harry Potters." Vexed at the topic, Hermione looked away from Harry and proceeded to stir the milk in her tea. "That besides, I didn't want to meet the king if he selected one of my essays as the best."

"Cocky, are we?" Harry raised an eyebrow. Chuckling when Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, he took a sip of tea and frowned at the unmistakable aroma of the drink. "Hermione, don't drink the tea."

Alarmed, the young woman glanced at the teacup in her hand and took a deep breath in. Her nose crinkled in distaste and she immediately set it down as far away from her as she could.

"What's wrong?" Remus asked.

"Hermione is allergic to almonds, remember?" Harry reminded, taking Hermione's cup and finishing it himself. "I'll go make a different kind. You two can talk."

Hermione smiled and nodded, grateful for his warning. He chuckled, patted his friend's shoulder, and walked out of the drawing room with the tray of tea and biscuits.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot you're allergic to it."

"It's alright," replied Hermione. "Sometimes, I forget myself."

"A servant of Madame Aubretia approached me several days ago."

"Madame Aubretia?" Hermione frowned. "What did she want?"

"Moorwich's coastal areas have been attacked by many Maeng pirates recently. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Hermione lowered her eyes.

"I've heard from Lord Weasley, yes."

"If Lord Weasley told you about it then you already know what Madame Aubretia wants."

"Remus," Hermione cleared her throat. "Draco Malfoy is currently in the city. Although I have not explicitly studied the man, I know him well enough to understand that he will not leave the city until some of the most recent investigations are finished. I do not want to involve myself in Ministry work while he is here."

"Diplomats from Engynia are coming this winter and His Majesty had summoned him back to Mallengraul in order to prepare for it. If he wants to make it back to the capital in time, he will not interfere with Moorwich's Ministry. Furthermore, if Lord Weasley knows you're on the case, he would never let Malfoy in on it."

"If an officer from the State Tribunal asks for information, I believe Lord Weasley has no choice but to answer to him." Hermione pointed out. "He's only a magistrate after all."

"But you're not a Ministry worker."

"I know that but-"

"Harry told me he thinks you're a muggle-born."

"Yes, he automatically assumed from my dirty attire that I had dirty blood as well. He's a right arse, that man."

Remus chuckled.

"So will you help us?"

Hermione was silent for a while, debating the issue at hand. What Professor Lupin was asking of her was not something out of the ordinary. If she counted all the unauthorized training sessions she had since she was ten years old, Hermione could say she had been an unofficial Ministry worker for at least eight years. She knew the way the Ministry worked, understood the ways criminal minds worked, and had enough experience of working under stressful situations to not freak out should none of the proposed plans go her way.

Given such experiences, could she still work with the presence of Draco Malfoy looming beyond her every step? To him, she was only a muggle-born. She had no qualities that coincided with the fabricated image of one Emmaline Duval. He had even said it himself. She didn't need to worry about him targeting her in any way. She couldn't. Call it paranoia, call it worrying too much, she didn't care but until that man left Moorwich for Mallengraul, she could not rest.

"Fear of a name increases the fear of the thing itself," Hermione repeated her life motto.

"If that is true, then why do you fear Malfoy? He's only a puppet."

"It's not that she's worried about herself."

Harry coming back into the room halted the conversation between the pupil and professor and the two of them went silent as Harry poured new tea for them. This was white tea imported straight from Engynia. Once each of them had a cup in their hands, Harry sat back down next to Hermione and looked at Remus.

"Then what is she worried about?"

Harry glanced at Hermione and smiled ambiguously.

"She's afraid of hurting him. Hermione here has been trained to take out Death Eaters since young, wasn't she?"

"Theoretically," Hermione said dismally. "You know, it's getting harder to lie to mother about taking potions lessons from you when all I come home with are bruises and dirty robes. Especially when I visit without an escort."

"You're right. I always wondered about that. Who does know about these training lessons anyway?"

"Lady McGonagall, Lord Granger, Lord Weasley, Ron, Hermione, you, and me." Remus looked Hermione. "This is the last time I'm asking, Hermione. Will you or will you not do it?"

Hermione leaned back against the daybed and sighed.

"Since I don't have a choice, I'll do it."

"I'll help her," Harry said immediately. "It's not everyday you get to see Hermione Granger dance."

**Author's Note:: **And this is Chapter 3, Collision. Wow, this chapter has around 12,000 words and I feel that nothing is really moving. Is that just me? Anyway, I wanted to make this extra long since I don't think I'll be updating for quite a while. I'm going to study abroad in China in two weeks! Eeek. Enjoy and tell me your thoughts about this chapter. As always, thank you for reading.


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